


By Heaven & Hell

by mythomusicians



Series: Main Mythos Trilogy [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Not Human, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampires, Angels, Demons, Gen, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Vampires, YBC aftermath, eventual brallon fluff, eventual peterick fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomusicians/pseuds/mythomusicians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of YBC, a newly rejoined Fall Out Boy must deal with the demon that's left in Patrick.<br/>Brendon takes a trip to the outskirts of Vegas that changes everything in his life.<br/>Pete acquires a drinking problem, or as he likes to consider it, a drinking solution. Except that it's really not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The aftermath

Three times.

They’ve had to do this three times already within the past two weeks. It was pretty obvious to Patrick, and everyone else, that this just wasn’t working. And the amount of pain it caused him, God, was it even worth it at this point? 

“How are you feeling?”

Patrick shot a glare in Andy’s direction, his yellow eyes still very prominent as the charm was still taking effect over his body. He always regained his senses before the rest of him caught up, and his limbs struggled against the restraints whether he wanted them to or not. “Just dandy, man.” Patrick had answered through gritted teeth. After a few minutes, he got his control back and his eyes returned to their usual blue. He allowed himself to relax, although he was still breathing heavy from the pain caused from each time they had to reenact the charm. If they didn’t do anything, though, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and he didn’t want to hurt his friends. Again. Well, technically it wasn’t him, but it still was in the end. The only good that had come from this whole ordeal was the fact it had brought the four of them together again. He wished it were under different circumstances, but he had to admit he really had missed being around the guys. Sure doing his own thing for a while there was fun, but getting the band back together just felt right.

“This should probably hold for a while before we have to do it again.” Andy had said, frowning at the situation. 

“So when are we going to find a real solution to this?” Joe asked, addressing what no one else wanted to say. “Can’t be expected to do this the rest of his life.”

Andy sighed and shook his head, not having an answer for that. He went to release the makeshift bonds on Patrick's arms, one around his right wrist and the other just below the left elbow, letting him sit on the couch nearby. He was incredibly weak after every ritual, and covered in sweat. This time Andy had made sure to bring down a towel and a shirt for Patrick, who covered himself first with the towel, trying to rest and dry off. Right now, the only things holding off the demon from taking over Patrick fully were the charms and rituals they used to ward it off. At least this way it stayed dormant, trapped in his body. Until they could find a way to force the demon out, Patrick was stuck like this. Host to a terrible demon that had absolutely no empathy, and wanted them all dead.

The lack of an answer caused a loud sigh from the heavily breathing Patrick, who looked to Pete with a bit of a frown. Ever since the whole demon thing had happened, his friend had been keeping his distance from him. 

Pete was staying closer to Joe, eyeing Patrick warily. How was he supposed to react? Whenever he looked at him, he only saw those yellow eyes and a generally bad aura around his friend, whether or not the charm was working. The sight was rather unpleasant to him, and even if it was still Patrick in the end, he felt uneasy around him. It certainly didn’t help that the nearer he was, the harder it was to fight the urge to rip out his jugular. His kind and demons didn’t get along. It might as well have been in his DNA. 

“How are you holding up?” Patrick had asked him, hoping to spark some sort of conversation with him. Having Pete avoid him like this made him worry. He didn't blame him, after all, he’d almost killed all of them, and he had fought with Pete specifically. He hadn’t been the one fighting, of course, but he could see and feel it all. He felt goddamn lucky that Andy and Joe seemed to realize he was still himself, he would be foolish to expect Pete of all people to do the same. 

Pete shrugged in response, refusing to look at him. If he could just focus on his voice, he could be reminded that this was his best friend, but looking at Patrick was something he felt he just couldn’t handle. “I ate a few hours ago, so I’m fine for now.” He said rather flatly. Patrick could see he was clenching his fists. 

“Speaking of, we’re running low, so you might wanna hit up another donation center.” Joe added in, earning a look of confusion from Andy.

“Didn’t we do that a week ago? You’re already almost out?” The drummer looked to Pete, who gave a shrug in response again, eyes closed.

“Guess I’ve just been drinking too much lately.” He said. Which wasn’t very surprising to him. After the ordeal they’d gone through, what with his best friend being possessed by a demon and trying to destroy not only their instruments but themselves, it put him on edge. And he found comfort in drinking. It wasn’t as good as the fresh stuff, but it wasn’t like anyone was volunteering to offer their own for him. Ever since that incident with Mikey, especially. The vampire shook his head, not wanting to dwell on that. It happened a long while ago, it was in the past, and he couldn’t change that.

There was an awkwardly long silence where no one really knew what to say next.

"Want me to go with you to grab some more?" Joe quietly offered, trying to break the silence with something, anything, and assuming he'd say yes. Pete did nod, figuring with two of them they could carry more of those blood packets out without raising too much suspicion. 

“I’ll stay and keep an eye on Patrick. Be careful.” Andy said, looking at Pete specifically. It was just about sunset at this point, so he probably needn't worry about the sunlight issue, but it didn’t hurt to be careful just in case.

“Yeah, yeah.” Pete mumbled, opening his eyes and waving off Andy’s concern. He went up the stairs from the basement to leave Andy’s home, Joe following close behind. 

“You don’t have to keep an eye on me.” Patrick grumbled, moving the towel from his head to look at Andy. “It isn’t like the charm is going to wear off soon or anything.” As unreliable as the length of time the charm did its job properly was, it would at least last for a day or two before they had to do it all over again.

Andy shrugged in response. “It’s no problem to me.” Couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Patrick alone, especially not after all they had gone through, with all of the things they’d seen. Leaving Patrick gave him anxiety, not just for himself but for Patrick and the other guys. If anything were ever to happen, he wanted to be there, ready.

::::

It took about fifteen minutes for Joe and the vampire to reach the Red Cross they were going to raid. Pete had been doing it for a long time now. Ten years was plenty of time to know how to get in and out without causing a scene. He’d used about every method he could think of: disguising himself as a doctor, or as a patient, and even breaking in. Breaking in was always the fastest, albeit the most risky. But Pete believed in himself enough to be able to pull it off. “Just follow my lead.” Pete said to Joe, waving for him to follow him to one of the back entrances to the building. 

He went up to the door and tried to hold back a laugh at the sight. It looked like they decided to get a new lock. They probably realized something was up after their supplies had been seriously depleting these past few weeks, and oh yes of course this would definitely stop him, oh no what would he do about this? He thought for a minute, knowing the easy way would be just smashing in the new lock, but he didn’t exactly want to draw too much attention to it, knowing he would likely have to find somewhere else to raid for a while if that happened.

Pete’s concentration was broken when Joe spoke. “So, what do you have against Patrick?”

The vampire frowned as he turned to look at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Dude, you’ve been avoiding him haven’t you?”

Pete shook his head to try and dismiss the issue, but sighed after a minute. “He looks like a demon, Joe. He even smells like a demon. Even when you say the charm is working and he’s ‘back to his normal self,’ all I see are those yellow eyes staring back at me.” He tried to bring his focus back to the lock, but added on, “It’s fucking creepy. And he smells like fucking sulfur.” 

Not having the patience to continue thinking about a different way to go about it, Joe having broken his focus, Pete decided to just grab the door handle and pull. His strength was more than enough to rip the knob clean off, which in turn unlocked the door. Pete opened it and went inside, Joe following suit, realizing he wasn’t going to get a different answer than what Pete had already said.

Remembering how the place was set up last time he raided the place, Pete made his way through darkened hallways towards the room where they had stored all of their donations, Joe following closely behind.   
“Do you hear that?”

Hearing Joe speak, Pete stopped heading to the storage area and listened. He heard some sort of chiming, whirring sound.   
“Shit, we have to get out of here.” Pete turned back around to face Joe. “That’s an alarm, they know we broke in.”

They broke into a run, heading for the exit. They tripped over a few stray boxes, sending papers scattering across the floor. Pete kept muttering under his breath. “ _Shit shit shit shit shit_.”

They made it out the door and well into the suburban area around them before stopping for Joe to catch his breath. “Since when.. Do they.. Have.. An alarm?” He said between each panting breath.

Pete shook his head. “I guess they really wisened up, huh? At least they won’t find us on the camera.” He said as he heard the police sirens rush by them a few streets down.

Joe looked at him in confusion, his lungs catching up with him. “Camera? What do you mean camera? Pete, if there’s a camera there then I hate to break it to you, but you’re the only bloodsucker here. They’ll see me.” He saw Pete smirk. “What? You think that’s funny?”

“I thought you knew!”

Joe furrowed his brow. “Knew what exactly?”

“Vampires show up on camera, man. Unless we don’t want to, then we mask ourselves. It’s one of those weird abilities that lore almost gets right. So don’t worry about it. I masked you, too.”

Joe shot him a look. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin me, right?” Pete again shook his head. “That’s not even fair! Or a good explanation!”

“As far as they know, it all happened on its own. I’m just mad we didn’t make it out with any blood. I’m gonna fucking starve at this rate. I’ve really gotta cut back.”

“How much have you been drinking?”

Pete looked down. He really did not want to admit it. Not to Joe, not to himself. His cache, which usually was good for a solid month of his regular drinking, would at his present rate be gone in a few days. He really needed to slow down. “Just, uh, way too fuckin’ much. This whole demon thing’s got me really fucked up.”

Joe squinched his face in concern. If Pete ran out of blood before they could get more, they ran the risk of having to restrain him to keep people safe until they could. He knew the thirstier Pete got, the harder it would be for him to hold back on his instincts. And unfortunately, Pete was the best blood raider of them all.

“Come on,” Pete started. “Let’s just get back to Andy’s. We’ll figure out what to do.”

Pete thought as he walked. Sure, he could find another place to raid, but it could take days, even a week before he canvassed anywhere new well enough to get in and out fast. He’d practically taken all he could from any other blood banks within a fifty mile radius, and he never let their stores get so low as to threaten their ability to save lives. If he hadn’t been drinking so heavily, maybe he could have taken some from the same place as last time. They were scheduled to have a blood drive in the next couple of weeks, they would have been able to afford a few bags lost. But he seriously fucked up his schedule. There’d be Hell to pay for that, he was sure. Honestly, Pete had been letting way too much slide lately. He used to be obsessed with maintaining his human image, trying to both not raise alarm to his vampirism and to live as “normally” as he could. But lately? He just kind of stopped caring. He used to file his fangs down every other day, since they grew back so damn fast, but lately he was lucky if he remembered to do it twice a week. It wasn’t a huge deal, but they grew noticeably sharp in less than a week, and that always caused problems.  They rounded the corner, coming up on Andy’s house.

“You alright, Pete?” Joe asked. “You’ve been silent this whole time.”

Pete took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot going on this month.” As they stepped onto Andy’s driveway, Pete took out his phone and dialed. He saw Joe give him a questioning look. “Pizza,” he explained. “I’m fucking hungry.”

“Get me some.” Joe responded. Pete nodded and started placing his order. Joe knew Pete wasn’t actually hungry. He didn’t really need to eat, of course. He just really liked the taste of pizza, and he always said he wouldn’t let anything stop him. He remembered back to when Pete had first turned. He was so scared to eat pizza, afraid of the legends about garlic. He didn’t want it ruined for him and, of course, he didn’t want to end up hurt. At some point, though, the guys had all been eating pizza and Pete had absentmindedly grabbed a slice, forgetting for a moment what he was. He had taken a bite before they all realized what happened and waited for some kind of reaction. Surprisingly, they waited for nothing, and so garlic was placed back on the list of things Pete could be around. That was a good night for them, and funny, too. Joe sighed. Even with Pete having been turned, things had eventually returned to some semblance of normal. Would they reach that point now with Patrick the way he was? Pete could barely stand to be in the same room as the guy. He wondered, then, why he never left. No matter what happened to Patrick, Pete never left the room. Sure, he’d shrink back to the far corner sometimes, but he could have just left and no one would have been upset with him. Joe just hoped things would return to normal sooner, rather than later. The two came up to the door and entered, noting that no one seemed to be upstairs, so they headed for the basement. As soon as Joe opened the door, it looked like Pete might gag.

“You mean to tell me you don’t smell that?” He asked Joe, who shook his head.

“All I smell is sweaty equipment.” Which made sense, since Andy had his drums and some exercise equipment in the basement. Pete sighed and started down the stairs.

“We’re back.” He called down. “Pizza’s on the way. Got enough for everyone.” At the bottom of the steps, Pete could see Patrick was sleeping. When he slept, he looked more like the way Pete remembered his best friend. His aura calmed down and his eyes were closed, but the smell still lingered. It had been weeks since he’d had a conversation with him, and honestly, he missed it, and he knew it was his fault. He was shaken from his thoughts when Andy came out from the bathroom. 

“You got me a personal?” He asked to confirm. He liked pizza, but it had to be his kind of pizza.

Pete smirked. “Always. Your favorite place, too.” Andy smiled.

“Great, I’m starving. And too tired to make anything. Speaking of food..” Andy noticed they weren’t carrying anything. He raised an eyebrow at Pete. “Where’s your stuff?” Pete closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment, but he didn’t answer. “Pete?”

“We didn’t get anything.” He said finally.

“Wh-Nothing?”

“They installed an alarm. We had to book it. We’ve got nothing.” Pete looked down in frustration.

Andy stood there for a moment, trying to think of what to say next.

“So how long will your cache last...?” Came Patrick's tired voice from the couch. He hadn’t moved, or even opened his eyes. He just listened. He sounded concerned, and he was. They had enough to deal with, what with him being pretty much out of order a few days every week. What if they needed to restrain Pete? They only had one set of restraints, and Pete was a lot stronger than Patrick.

Pete wasn’t quite sure how to answer, but he couldn’t let the question hang there. He decided he’d go with what sounded best. “About a week.. if I’m lucky.” He winced at his own statement. It sounded a lot worse out loud.

“A week?”

Pete hesitated. “..less, if you want me to be useful.”

Patrick sighed. Any other day he'd get up and help Pete ration what was left, or at least try to comfort him. But he knew if he even got near the guy, he'd back away. No one would tell him why, but he figured it was because the fucking demon inside of him had tried to one-on-one kill him.

"There's no where else you can check?" Andy asked, hoping there were other donation centers around that they could take from. But his question received a shake of Pete's head as response.

"Not in the immediate area, no."

Things seemed to be getting worse and worse.

"Once Patrick is back on his feet, we can go drive around and find somewhere." Andy suggested. "So maybe like three days from now? Do you think you can manage?"

Pete nodded, figuring that three days should be alright as long as he rationed out what he had left.

So at least there were the workings of a solution for one of their problems. The other problem on the other hand, well, they still needed to figure out how they could extract the demon without harming Patrick.

"Come on, we should get back to work." Patrick said, sitting up and motioning to the papers full of half finished lyrics on the coffee table. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Golly what a mess

Two days later, Pete wouldn't admit just how low his stash had gotten. Even with trying to cut back, he would find himself binging when everyone else was asleep. Before he knew it, he had just finished his last packet, and at that realization, he felt his stomach drop. It'd been years since he'd ever run out with no easy access to more. He knew that he should tell the others, for their own safety. But he felt so ashamed. The vampire knew that with his current rate of drinking though, it'd only be a matter of time before his body expected more. And well, there wasn't anything to give. Pete battled with himself, weighing between keeping it a secret and risk hurting them, or letting them know and feel even more ashamed with himself. It took him longer than it probably should have to come to the conclusion to let them know. If he ended up hurting his friends, he'd be no better than that demon inside Patrick.

"Andy?" Pete shook his friend awake, swallowing his pride.

He woke tiredly from his seat on the couch and looked to the time. "It's so early, what is it?"

"We, uh, we have a problem." Pete held up the empty bag.

At the sight, Andy felt wide awake. "Was that your last one?" Nod. "Shit, man, what happened to rationing?" Pete frowned and looked away, shaking his head. "How long do you think you can manage?"

The vampire hesitated, not having a good answer. "Maybe... A couple hours?" He hated to admit it, but even after downing those few bags, he was still thirsty for more, and since his body had grown accustomed to drinking more, it needed more.

Andy sighed and rubbed the side of his head. "Patrick isn't fully recovered from the ritual yet."

They looked over at their sleeping friend, who was even still breathing heavily in his sleep. The charm wasn't pleasant and it really took a toll on Patrick every time they had to do it.

"I... I know." Pete sighed as well, looking away. "But, we don't have a choice, man. Fucking hell..." He felt even worse about himself telling Andy. It made him seem like he had no self-control. But then again, recently, he hadn't any. He'd let the stress of his best friend becoming intolerable to him get to him, and now he was paying for it.

"Alright." Andy sat up and went to go wake up Joe, who had passed out on the floor instead of going home, to tell him the situation.

Pete looked back to Patrick as he slept, wishing that this unthreatening aura still stayed like this when he was awake, but when he was awake, so was his demon. Even if it's been held at bay to prevent it from taking control, it was still there. Dormant, but definitely still there.

"We're gonna leave and scout out somewhere we can get you more blood." Andy said, and as Pete went to go follow, Joe shook his head and pointed towards the restraints that Patrick was usually in during the ritual.

"Not today, dude."

Pete frowned, looking to where Joe pointed. He knew he wouldn't be able to go with them, but was tying him up really necessary? Then again, if Patrick can't go, then he'd have to stay behind too. The vampire sighed, not liking the situation. "Just... Just hurry up okay?"

The other two nodded, and Andy went to make sure Pete was fastened tightly to the restraints, just in case the worst happened. Pete thought he'd have enough self control to not go start attacking anyone, but well, maybe it would be necessary.

Just in case.

::::

Patrick woke a few hours after Joe and Andy had left. He still felt more than a little crappy, but at least better than he had been the past two days. He groggily sat up and looked around, wondering where everyone had gone. As he scanned the room, he finally saw Pete sitting against the wall, his head hung low. It took him a minute to realize that something was definitely off.

"Pete? Where are Joe and Andy?"

Patrick only received a vague grunt in response, so he got up and walked toward the vampire with a frown.

"Stay away..." Pete mumbled as Patrick stood a few feet in front of him.

"Why?" Patrick was starting to get very annoyed with the way his friend had been acting toward him. "Ever since this whole thing happened, you've been avoiding me."

"Patrick, please..." Pete shook his head, not having the want to talk about this issue, especially not right now. He was thirsty already. He scrunched his nose in repulse of the smell coming off of Patrick, the sulfuric demonic smell extremely overpowering with how close he was. "Please, dude... Just go away."

"I'm still me!" Patrick nearly yelled, getting more and more frustrated with the way Pete was acting, taking a step closer to him. "Why don't you see th-"

"Patrick, stay the fuck away from me." Pete was having a hard time focusing on anything but the horrid smell that just grew closer, stronger. Patrick took another step in defiance, and Pete could only see the demon standing there before him. The demon that had nearly killed all of them, that would have definitely killed all of them. He heard Patrick speaking, but none of the words were registering to him, his mind only focused on the demon in front of him. Probably about a foot away at this point.

_Come closer, I dare you._

"Pete, I'm still Patrick. I'm still your best friend, aren't I?" Patrick kneeled down in front of his friend to try and get his attention. "Please, look at me."

It was a swift motion, Patrick wouldn't have been able to stop it even if he'd known it was coming.

Pete grabbed Patrick's shoulders tightly, his restraints allowing him very slight mobility, and forced him close, his sharp fangs sinking into the crook of Patrick's left side of his neck.

Patrick screamed in agony at the sudden and sharp intrusions in his neck, a few moments later his brain realizing what Pete had just done. As he felt his blood being taken from him, he tried pushing Pete away and getting away, but his body felt more numb the longer the fangs were in, preventing him from fighting off the vampire. "Pete..." Patrick tried to form words to try and snap him out of it, but he felt so numb at this point that his body couldn't hold itself up anymore, and he ended up leaning against Pete and unable to fight back.

Pete's grip on Patrick didn't let up, neither his bite nor his grasp on his shoulders, even after he felt Patrick fall limp. The only things filling his mind were his thirst, and his hatred for the demon inhabiting his friend. The longer he drank, the more his thoughts were returning, and after a minute it finally hit him what he'd been doing. Pete quickly let go of Patrick and shoved him away, horrified with himself. What had he done? He lost control. Again. He promised himself this wouldn't happen again, not after last time.

The vampire instinctively licked at his fangs and lips to get the last drops that lingered, the taste being better than any he'd had before. It tasted better than the packets he'd been living on for the past years, hell, better than his last time of biting into an actual person. It tasted absolutely indescribable. It felt good. He was still thirsty. He wanted more.

Patrick regained his senses as he sat up, the feeling returning to his body and his limbs. He put his hand over where Pete had bitten, the wound still bleeding out, Pete not having been able to cauterize it with his venom, having pushed him away before he got the chance to. "Pete, you..." Patrick's thoughts were catching up, but there was only one thing in his head right now: Did Pete turn him?

Pete hesitated to speak to Patrick, the same thing running through his mind too. Did he doom his friend to not only having a demon stuck inside him, but having to live his life as a vampire? He wouldn't wish that on anyone else again. It was bad enough the first time it'd happened, he couldn't have done this again... "Here, uh, let me..-" Pete motioned towards Patrick's neck, figuring he'd have to stop the bleeding. Also, another taste wouldn't hurt right?

Patrick was wary, not wanting to be much around the other right now, but if his worst fears were true, then it wasn't like Pete could do much more to him. He moved back towards him, removing his hand from his neck. Pete leaned over and licked at the wound, every instinct inside of him telling him to bite down. It took a lot of effort and restraint to do so, but he managed to not bite into his friend again. The wound had closed up at Pete's contact with it.

The two sat in a bit of an awkward silence, neither knowing what to say or do right now.

Despite what had happened though, Pete felt an odd anger welling up inside of him. "I told you to stay the fuck away from me didn't I?" He yelled out, which caught the other off-guard. "Why the fuck didn't you listen to me?"

"I-" When Patrick had seen Pete when he'd first woken, he didn't see that he was restrained. If he'd noticed that, maybe he would have kept his distance, putting one and one together and figuring that Pete was blood-hungry.

"This wouldn't have happened!"

Patrick felt a need to defend himself. "Why are you getting mad at me? This wouldn't have happened if you had some self-control and actually rationed out what you had left like you said you would."

Pete groaned, his wrists pulling at the restraints, which caused Patrick to back away a bit in fear of getting bit again. "Keep away, you still smell fucking rancid, man." Pete said with a grimace.

The other frowned at that, but did back away some more again. He rubbed at his neck where Pete had bit, the wound still very sore despite him having stopped the bleeding.

The two sat in silence again for a few minutes before Patrick spoke up, addressing the elephant in the room.

"Does this mean that I'm..." Patrick let Pete fill in the blank, which earned another groan from him.

"I don't fucking know. I don't know." Pete looked away from Patrick, ashamed of what he'd done, and the dreaded fact that he still craved more of his blood.

Patrick tried to calm himself down, not wanting the worst to have happened. Okay, tell-tale signs of being a vampire. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth, not feeling any fangs there. So that was a good sign right? Unless it took a minute to take effect, in which case then no, it wasn't a good sign. "I, uh, don't feel any different." He didn't have a sudden craving for blood or anything like that. He still felt like himself, well, as himself as he could be with a demon living inside of him.

Pete looked at him curiously. From what he remembered from his own turning, he'd experienced bloodlust right off the bat. So maybe he hadn't turned him. But why? It happened last time, so why didn't it this time? "I.. I think you're okay."

Patrick sighed in relief at the news, but then too began to wonder why it didn't seem to have had an effect on him.

Suddenly it clicked with Pete.

"You already have darkness inside of you." Pete felt sure of this answer. It made sense to him, anyway. With a dark entity already inhabiting his body, there wasn't room for vampirism to take effect in Patrick.

"Huh." Patrick felt somewhat relieved for once that there was a demon residing in him. He rubbed at the sealed wound again, relaxing a bit.

"Hey, uh." Pete looked back at his friend, wavering for a moment. He still saw the bright demonic yellow eyes in place of where Patrick's kind blue eyes should be, wishing that he really was truly his old friend. The sulfuric smell still burned in his nose, but he tried his best to ignore it for Patrick's sake. "Your blood tasted really fucking good, man.."

Patrick frowned at Pete, hand still covering the wound. He knew where Pete was headed. "No. Once was more than enough." It was painful, and the way he'd reacted made him feel helpless.

"I-I was just sayin'.." _Damn._ He'd really hoped that Patrick would do that for him again. "And, y’know, Andy and Joe are out trying to find some donations so." Pete shrugged. "I don't know when they'll be back."

Patrick kept frowning at his friend, not wanting to admit that he had a point there. If he needed to drink again before they returned, their safest option would be to have him drink from him again. Even if it was unpleasant, at least it seemed that he wouldn't turn if Pete had to do it again, as opposed to if he lost control again and went to attack an innocent. "Only if you really need it." He finally caved, not wanting Pete to end up hurting someone.

Pete sighed and nodded, figuring that was better than nothing. The blood had tasted so fresh and so revitalizing and better than he could ever explain. He wasn't sure if it was just because he hadn't drank from an actual person in so long or if it was just Patrick's blood. But he felt so much stronger and better, and he continued to crave it. "Mind untying these?" He asked, motioning towards the restraints on his wrists.

Patrick was hesitant, afraid it was just a lure to get him close to bite again, but as unhappy he was with Pete's actions, he still wanted to believe he could trust him. And he was actually talking to him again. He didn't want to ruin that. Patrick helped free Pete, still cautious around him.

Pete rubbed at his wrists once they were free, glad to be able to move freely again. He looked at Patrick, trying so desperately to see past the demonic features that he saw. Yes it was obviously still Patrick, but everything about him screamed demon. His features, the smell, his aura, just everything about him was demonic to the vampire, who hated that demon with every fiber of his soul. Or maybe lack of one, what with the whole vampire thing. He wasn't really sure. Either way, if there was a way to get that demon out, he was willing to do anything it took.

As they sat in quiet, Patrick noticed Pete kept looking over at his neck, almost as if he was in a trance of some sort. He covered the wound with his hand again to try and snap Pete out of it. It seemed to have worked, for the most part. Pete shook his head, coming back to reality.

"So, dude, I'm really fucking sorry about how I've been acting." He finally said, still trying to convince himself that it really was Patrick under all of those demonic features. "It's just... It's fucking hard."

Patrick sighed and nodded a bit, understanding where Pete was coming from. Out of everyone, the demon had definitely affected Pete more than the others. Vampires and demons, despite both coming from dark places, had a general dislike for each other.

“I’m.. I’m trying, you know? But every time I.. I look at you, I see him. I see that fucker who tried to kill me, to kill us. Who forced me to try to kill you. The guys, I guess they say your eyes go back to normal or some shit, that you look like yourself again, but they’re wrong. I can see him. Right there. And-and you smell, dude, you smell like fucking sulfur. I don’t know.”

Patrick was taken aback by his confession. He still saw the demon? No wonder he’d been avoiding him like crazy. “Pete, I..” To be honest, he wasn’t really sure what to say.

“Just like, every cell in my body is telling me to go after you, to kill you, to get you to go away. My brain is trying to turn me against you, and it’s really hard to remain calm with that fucking smell in my nose all the time.” _But you taste so good, now it’s telling me to stay and suck you dry,_ he thought. He didn’t want to admit to Patrick that he was being torn in both directions, neither of them safe or good for either of them. He wanted his friend back, and he knew Patrick wanted that too, but he wanted to keep him safe, even if that meant removing himself from the equation. And maybe he would have been able to do that, if he hadn’t gone and sunk into his neck. He shook his head in frustration, trying really hard to get Patrick’s blood off his mind. But the taste was embedded into his memory, and his unfiled fangs itched to rip once more into flesh.

Patrick could see his muscles were straining. Pete was fighting his instincts again, and he might not be able to win. “Pete, it might be a better idea to leave you tied up.” He received another head shake in response.

“I can handle this.” He looked up at his friend. “I need to handle this.”

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you can’t, man, I mean, honestly.”

“I can handle this!” Pete yelled. He was angry, and he suddenly found himself standing. Taken aback by the sound of his own voice being so loud, his eyes widened slightly. “I-I’m sorry, I..” He sat again, hanging his head. “Patrick, I’m not feeling too well. I think you should leave me alone for a bit.”

“No, man, we can’t leave each other. We’re responsible for each other at this point. If I tie you up and I lose control, we’re both in trouble. And if you tie me up and you lose control, well..” Patrick didn’t want to stay on that topic.

Pete hated to admit it, but he was right. Neither of them were safe tied up at this point. Even though it was unlikely the charm was going to wear off anytime soon, it couldn’t be risked. He looked at the clock. Three pm. He had no idea when Joe and Andy would be back, nor did he know what to tell them. He looked again over to Patrick, who had moved his hand away from his wound. Already it looked like it had healed somewhat. _Fuckin’ demon magic._ His eyes fixated on the wound and he felt his tongue brush up against his fangs. A surge of intense bloodlust washed over him, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to attack him where he sat. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Pete..?” Patrick saw his muscles strain and his jaw clench. He hadn’t seen him this pained in years. He thought maybe he really should remove himself for a few minutes. “I’m.. I’ll be in the bathroom, man. I’ll be right back.”

Pete managed a nod, working through the pain of denying his baser instincts. As soon as Patrick left his presence, he started to recover. The room still smelled of demon, but the source itself had gone, and its pungency weakened. He took a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but his instincts had settled on biting. He had to bite something. Anything. The firmer, the better. _Fuck._ He struggled, his body trying very hard to betray his wishes, for a good couple of minutes. He looked around for a way to redirect his instincts, but there wasn’t much around that wasn’t made of metal. Just as Patrick opened the bathroom door, he lost. The way he saw it, in that moment, he had two options. Lunge for Patrick and pay the consequences, or embarrass himself in front of his best friend and the demon inside him. Given the events of the day, he went for the closest thing he could sink his teeth into-- one of the couch cushions. Before he knew it, the stuffed fabric had found its way into his mouth. It wasn’t as satisfying as his instincts had expected, but at least he could relax somewhat. The itch was there, but it wasn’t nearly as intense. Naturally, Patrick saw it all happen right before him. For a moment, he was concerned. Pete had acted with such speed and ferocity it was almost terrifying. But now, all he saw in front of him was his best friend with a pillow in his mouth.

Needless to say, it was hilarious. He tried not to laugh, but he looked so funny. Pete glared at him at first, embarrassed and ashamed at his current state. But when Patrick started to smile, he saw, just for a moment, past the yellow eyes and the threatening aura, right to the core of his best friend. He felt his face get red, not quite finding the strength to let go of the pillow, his fangs holding relentlessly onto the fabric. Patrick just couldn’t hold it in for long. He burst out laughing, slapping his knee and collapsing backwards onto the couch across from Pete. Finally, Pete managed to let go of the pillow, then burying his face in it, feeling totally and completely like an idiot. Patrick, meanwhile, was laughing so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. Pete looked up and started to smirk. Before long, he was laughing with Patrick at the situation, feeding off of each other’s energy. They started to calm down, and Pete looked to his friend and saw just that- Patrick, for now, looked just like himself. He noticed, too, that the sulfuric smell had almost completely dissipated. For once, Pete felt he could relax around Patrick. He had missed that.

“Dude, what even was that?” Patrick asked him, still grinning like an idiot. Pete just shook his head and gave a small laugh.

“I couldn’t stop it. It was either you or the pillow.”

“Well, thanks then.” Patrick said rather nonchalantly. Pete sometimes forgot how used to his vampirism his friends really were. He still saw himself as an oddity, a freak, and an outcast. He’d been doing a lot better until recently. Until they almost died. But somehow, Patrick’s nonchalance put him at ease. He had always treated him like his being a bloodsucking creature was just.. normal. He was thankful for that.

“We should probably get something done before they get back,” Pete offered, thinking to seize the opportunity. “I had some ideas for a song last night.”

Patrick agreed, wanting to finally spend some time with Pete. It was nice, Pete thought, when his senses calmed down, when Patrick seemed to him like his real old self. His instincts relaxed, and he moved to the other couch and sat right next to Patrick, reaching to the coffee table and grabbing the papers full of words and a pen. 


	3. Chapter 3

They worked on their music for a few hours, feeling they got some solid work down for the first time since the incident. They were enjoying each other’s company again, but before long, Pete found himself craving something sickeningly sweet. “Patrick,” he started, turning to the other man. “I’m getting thirsty.”

Patrick swallowed nervously. “How long before you go batty?” He asked, trying to keep the mood light. Thankfully, Pete stifled a laugh.

“I don’t know, maybe an hour or two?” He answered, worried about what would happen when the guys got back. What if they couldn’t get any blood? And even if they did, nothing would compare to how delicious Patrick’s had been.

Patrick inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the worst. “Alright, if they’re not back in an hour, we’ll, uh, we’ll figure something out.” He didn’t want to give Pete a straightforward go-ahead, but he knew that it was entirely possible they’d have to resort to the worst. “Before you do go batshit crazy, how does the wound look?” he asked. He didn’t want to have to cover it up if he could help it, and the demon did take immaculate care of his body.

Pete willed himself to take a good look at the bite for the first time since the pillow incident, and thankfully, it was almost unnoticeable.

"I wouldn't be able to tell if I wasn't looking for it." He said. The marks were still there, but they healed to the point of being nearly totally gone. Patrick sighed a bit in relief, adjusting his shirt collar just in case though.

Pete still found himself fixated on Patrick's neck though. He was right beside him. It wouldn't take a lot of effort to just lean over and take a bite, and it was extremely tempting in all honesty. He knew Patrick said no, but as his vampiric instincts were starting to take control again, he saw Patrick not as his friend that he'd been comfortable writing with the past hour but rather more as that demon that was inside of him. For Patrick's sake though, he tried to ignore his instincts for as long as he could, lasting about ten minutes before he forced himself to get up and move to the other couch so he couldn't lash out at him.

Patrick looked at him curiously before getting the picture. It must be hard for Pete, he figured. He didn't understand how his blood could be so much more tempting than Joe's or Andy's or anyone else's.

As time went by, and the other two still hadn't returned, Pete was getting a lot more noticeably uncomfortable. Patrick felt bad for him, wavering between waiting for the others to return or letting him go ahead. It really wasn't a pleasant experience on his end. He'd felt helpless and defenseless and it just didn't feel right. After taking a few minutes to make a choice, Patrick got up and sat beside Pete, who went to move away from him.

"Patrick-"

"Go ahead. We don't know when they'll be back." He moved his collar down again.

Pete hesitated, knowing that Patrick was probably doing this unwillingly. He went to go refuse, but he could smell, hear, Patrick's blood. It was hard to reject it when he was right there offering it to him. Against his better judgement, Pete caved and bit into Patrick once more, unable to hold back any longer.

Patrick bit his lip to stop himself from yelling out like last time, but the pain was still just as bad.

Before he could feel Pete start draining him, he heard the door to the upstairs open, and Pete dislodged his fangs against his will, quickly sealing the punctures he made and backing away from Patrick.

He didn't want Joe or Andy to know what had happened.

But those few drops he had gotten from just sealing it made him want so much more. He wanted so badly to just say _fuck it_ and bite him again, but he didn't want to be restrained again if Joe and Andy deemed it bad for him to have done that.

Patrick put his hand over the freshly sealed wound, breathing heavily and looking up at the stairs as Andy and Joe came walking down. His heart was racing and his neck was burning, admittedly thankful that they returned before he started drinking.

"Look what we've got!" Joe grinned as he tossed some packets of blood over in Pete's direction, who caught them and quickly ripped into one of them to distract himself from Patrick's blood.

"Did you let him free?" Andy asked Patrick, wondering why Pete was no longer tied up.

"Uh." Patrick moved his hand from his neck then nodded. "Yeah, he seemed to be okay, so." He shrugged, figuring it wasn't a big deal.

Andy looked at him questioningly, but seeing as Patrick was still alive and not a vampire, he assumed that Pete was actually able to hold back his desires.

The vampire had drained the packet empty within seconds. It did sate his thirst, but the taste paled so much in comparison to what he'd taken from Patrick. The blood that Patrick supplied tasted so much better, fresher, gave him so much more strength, than this boring garbage. Sure it helped his thirst, but he was still definitely craving Patrick's blood more.

"If you actually ration it out this time, this supply should last two weeks." Joe set down the rest of the packets, looking at Pete. "By then the other place probably would have calmed down enough to go back there."

Pete nodded, looking at Patrick though. He wanted his friend's blood so badly still.

Patrick seemed to think that his current problem was done with for now, now that Pete has some of his usual supply, but when he looked back to Pete he realized that might not be the case, as he caught him staring at his neck. He frowned at the vampire, who shot him a slightly less than apologetic smile in return.

Pete couldn't help it. He loved the taste of Patrick's blood too much.

"You two kids get along, then?" Joe asked, noticing they were on the same couch for the first time in weeks. Hell, they hadn't been in the same corner of the room in weeks. Though it pained him to move his neck so soon after being bitten, Patrick nodded enthusiastically.

"We got a lot done, too. It's actually been.. It's been a decent day, for once." He wasn't lying. Hanging with Pete and writing music together had been the best thing to happen to him in a while, even factoring in the pain and mistakes made throughout the day.

Joe raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Pete was obviously still uncomfortable being so close to Patrick, but at the same time it were as though he didn't want to move too far. He wondered what he had missed while they were out.

"Yeah? Let me see," Andy said, sitting between Patrick and Pete. "Anything good?"

Pete tried to relax, his baser instincts having been sated, picking up some of their papers. "Yeah, we could use some of your input, actually.."

::::

The rest of the evening went on generally without problems, Pete slowly edging away from Patrick as his bloodlust slowly returned and his instinctual hatred started to kick in. He did his best to stay amicable towards his friend, but the stronger his scent burned in his nose the harder it was to ignore. Before long, Pete decided to excuse himself to go to bed. He thought about going home, but they weren't expecting him for a while, having explained he would be gone on vacation to figure out the direction Fall Out Boy was going to be taking. He instead went upstairs to Andy's guest room and crashed face first on one of the two twin beds.

Downstairs, Patrick, Andy, and Joe continued to work on music well into the night. By three am, they couldn't very well keep their eyes open. They called it quits, Joe leaving to go home. Patrick wanted to go home too, but Andy insisted he stay there until they figured out a more reliable solution. To be honest, Patrick agreed. Losing himself among his friends meant they could probably restrain him before he hurt anyone. But back home, he had his wife. And she didn't know anything about the situation he was in. Going home meant putting her in danger, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. He headed up to the guest room to find Pete passed out, having not even changed into pajamas or gotten under the covers. He hadn't even turned the small lamp on the little side table off. Patrick sat on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of the relatively small and simple room. He considered going and sleeping on the couch in the basement, or even in the living room. The couch there was less comfortable, he thought, but at least it would be a change of pace from the past day or so. He looked over Pete, thinking about how difficult the past month had been on the both of them. He absentmindedly rubbed at what was left of the punctures on his neck. It was only a matter time before Pete had caved and bit him, he thought. He had teased him for years, gotten close hundreds of times, at least half of them during concerts. He was just thankful he bit him now, when he couldn't turn. He had never expected the pain to be so intense. It was nearly as bad as the ritual. Nearly, but not quite. He was lucky as hell that Andy and Joe hadn't noticed. They would have assumed the worst, locked Pete back up and forced him to sober up, potentially leaving the demon the opportunity to go after the chained up vampire.

He hadn't quite decided where to sleep when Pete began to stir. Pete lifted himself up, smelling Patrick long before seeing him. He turned to face him, avoiding contact with his friend's eerie yellow eyes. In this light, he almost looked menacing.

"What time is it..?" He managed, wiping the tiredness from his eyes.

"Like, three-thirty. I was- I was about to leave, I didn't mean for you to wake."

Pete scrunched his eyes shut, trying to figure out what had woken him. He swallowed, and he realized. _Damn_ was he thirsty. He was practically parched, and the longer he was awake, the quicker his body took inventory of all of the blood that he _wasn't_ drinking.

"Fuck, Patrick, I'm so fucking thirsty right now.."

Already? It had been, what, five hours since his last packet? "You need to cut back, man."

Pete shook his head. His senses were starting to differentiate between the smell of Patrick's demon and Patrick's blood. One repulsed him, but the other only drew him in.

"I can't cut back now, Pat. Cutting back means I need to be restrained. We need to leave those cuffs open for you."

"Can't you just hold back?" Patrick asked him. It had worked before, years ago, the last time Pete had been drinking just a little too much. Okay, it wasn't a little. It was a lot. But he'd done it. He received another shake of Pete's head as answer, only this time a bit more vigorous.

Pete took a deep breath through his nose. His body was telling him he was thirstier by the minute. "Not unless you stop smelling so damn good."

Good? Patrick didn't understand. "I- I thought I smelled like shit?"

"You do." Pete sniffed again. "Fucking rancid."

Patrick opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Pete cut him off.

"Your demon smells fucking awful. Your blood, on the other hand, is tantalizing as hell."

"I can go grab a packet-"

"Dude, Andy will crucify me."

Patrick took a deep breath and sighed. He was right. They needed that blood to last Pete as long as inhumanly possible. He weighed their options. They didn't have many. He knew the longer he sat there the less likely he'd get out without giving in. Pete hadn't even asked the question, but he knew he wanted to. Sure he could leave and go to bed in the basement, but as he slept, Pete would get thirstier, and it was likely he would be driven to find a way to slake his thirst one way or another. Too thirsty, and he would lose all control. Locked up and he'd get too weak to hunt after a while, but left free he'd more than likely end up killing someone. That was always Pete's greatest fear. He looked Pete in the eye. "How badly?"

Pete bit his lip, which really only made it worse. He opened his mouth to answer and found himself instead brushing his tongue up against his fangs. He really ought to file them down. Patrick, thankfully, got the cue.

"That bad." He saw Pete's jaw tense. Pete wished he hadn't woken up. It wasn't only difficult to restrain himself, it was downright painful. If he had been able to sleep through the night, he would have been willing to grab a packet of blood in the morning. But it was too early, far too early, to be chugging down another pint or two. His throat now burned like fire, and it took every ounce of strength to do nothing about it. Patrick could tell. He'd been dealing with some really rough shit lately, and he was sure almost being killed had definitely exacerbated the problem. He looked Pete over. He couldn't just let him suffer like this. He was definitely suffering. Patrick let out a heavy sigh and took his shirt off. He saw Pete draw a sharp breath, and regretting it almost immediately, as the vampires muscles tensed. Pete was gripping the bed until his knuckles were white.

"Go for it."

Pete could only manage to shake his head in protest.

"Pete, please. I can't watch you like this. I can take the pain."

Pete finally stood up, shakily walking over to Patrick. "You're.. Sure?" He asked through his teeth. Patrick nodded.

"Just do it."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the great feedback! We're really glad you like the story. :-) <3 xoxo mythomusicians


	4. Chapter 4

Pete took Patrick at his word, both of them placing all of their trust in the other. He released his control over his instincts, flying directly for Patrick's shoulder. He hesitated for a mere moment, breathing in the clean scent of blood beneath the skin. Even in the low light, Patrick swore he saw Pete's pupils dilate larger than he'd ever seen them. Pete pushed him onto his back and sunk his fangs deep into Patrick's shoulder. The initial pain as Pete's imperfect fangs ripped into his flesh screamed through Patrick in an instant, but as Pete started to drink, his extremities began to go numb as the bitten area began to feel red hot. If Patrick could have screamed, he would have, but the pain was too much to even breathe properly. Pete went at it for a while, tasting this sweet nectar as much as he possibly could because _holy fuck_ it was good. The flesh beneath his fangs felt right, the blood coming forth from the wound better than he could have possibly remembered. But all too soon Pete felt Patrick start to go limp, and Pete knew he couldn’t take much more without risking his friend’s well-being.

Patrick thought he was about to faint, _Holy God_ did he want the pain to stop. He squeaked out a tiny, “Pete..” before getting too dizzy to think. Pete had to stop. He didn’t want to, but he had to. He mustered all of the strength he had and managed to push himself off, flying backwards onto the bed behind him.

Patrick laid where he was, still for a while, as he attempted to catch his breath and regain his senses. Pete seemed more… primal than when he had first bit him. It scared him more than he’d like to admit. There was an uncomfortable silence for a bit, followed by what Patrick heard to be a ripping noise, accompanied with pained grunts, coming from Pete's direction. After a few minutes, he managed to sit back up, a bit shakily, looking over at Pete.  
The vampire was catching his breath too, the blood that Patrick had to give still as good as when he had first had a taste of it. The sudden appearance of his bat-like wings caught him off-guard. He hadn’t used his limited access to dark magic to make them appear. They just showed up on their own, which meant that one of his good shirts was now a ripped mess. He didn’t care too much at first, his mind still struggling to calm down from the high that was Patrick’s blood.  
“Pete?” Patrick managed to ask once he’d caught his breath. It’d been a long time since he’d seen the wings pop out on the other, and usually it was for some practical use. There wasn’t much of a use for them right now, it seemed.

The revitalized vampire stretched out his greatly underused wings, looking at them curiously. Why had they appeared? They certainly seemed to have aged with him, the skin stretched over the phalanges looking both healthier and stronger than he'd last seen them over seven years ago. It took a little bit to register to him a reason why. As his body processed the sustenance, he felt as if he was exuding, overflowing, with dark magic. He’d felt tingles of it when he’d first bit Patrick, but not nearly as much as he did now. It was probably due to the large volume that he’d drunk from his friend this time. He wasn’t sure how much more he’d taken than last time, but he knew it was definitely a lot more. His mind was erratic, trying to be in five places at once, trying to figure out what to do or say or feel. Pete finally settled with an, "are you okay?"

Patrick looked at his shoulder, thankfully not bleeding out due to Pete's natural cauterization. It looked a bit more messy than the two clean puncture holes in his neck. Kinda too gruesome for him to look at right now. He let out a sigh as he laid back down, still feeling dizzy from having so much blood drained from him. He closed his eyes and mumbled a quiet "yeah" in response.

Pete tried to will his wings to go away, but it seemed until this extra magic worked its way through his system, he was stuck with them. The extra magic though, had it really come from Patrick? Maybe, rather, the demon inside him. The demon likely affected his friend's blood, which could be why it tasted so good; it gave him that extra power. Which could potentially also mean he was draining the demon of its power too. If that were the case, wasn't it win-win for both of them? To some extent, anyway.

"Fuck, man." Pete groaned, unsure how he could expel all this extra energy he had now.

"What's with the wings?" Patrick asked quietly, still not sitting back up. He felt utterly exhausted, and the wound Pete had left was still raging with pain.

Pete shrugged, but noticing that Patrick wasn't looking he said, "I don't know. I mean I have an idea, but.." He shrugged again. Pete wrapped his wings around himself, a bit like a blanket, unsure what else to do with them. Most of the time he saw them just as an inconvenience. He never had a reason to use them for anything, and they didn't fit with any shirts. He hadn't remembered them being this large, his wingspan about six feet, tip to tip, or so he estimated. He remembered they used to be shorter than he was, for the most part. He figured they had just grown with time, out of sight out of mind. He sighed. Just another part of who he was that folklore didn't quite get right. He stood up and walked closer to Patrick, at first trying to avoid looking at the wound. But as he got closer he didn't feel the same pull as the first time. He looked at his friend in the dim light of the single lamp. His aura was weak, and it lacked the darkness it once had. Pete worried he didn't leave enough magic in Patrick for him to heal properly. He allowed himself to look at the damage he caused. It was bad. But it didn't draw him in. He felt full, in a way. It was different. He placed a hand on Patrick's arm. _Fuck,_ it was cold. "You're sure you're okay, Pat?"

Patrick opened his eyes and looked at Pete, attempting a smile but feeling rather weak. "Uh.. I-I will be." He attempted to sit up again, slipping on his left wrist and toppling into Pete, who helped him up. Pete felt a pang of guilt, which quickly swelled throughout his entire being. He looked at his friend, barely able to sit up, weak from blood loss.

"Shit... I'm sorry." He said quietly. "Pat, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Patrick tried to wave it off, forgetting he wasn't wearing his prosthetic hand, and generally ended up waving what was left of his wrist in Pete's face. "It's.. It's really.. It's okay, Pete.."

It was, honestly. To him, anyway. He would recover, and Pete wouldn't hurt anyone. What happened to Mikey wouldn't happen to him, or anyone else, and he knew that Pete would have been in far worse shape had he slipped up tonight and hit the town in a bloodthirsty blackout. Pete's wings had a mind of their own, acting often like a heart on his sleeve. They sunk behind his back, and when Patrick looked at him, he just looked very obviously upset with himself.

"It's not fucking okay, Patrick, I-I could have killed you, I hurt you, who knows what could have happened?"

"Pe-Pete, Pete, listen to me..." Patrick tried to capture his attention, but the vampire's mind was racing, his energy overflowing, and his emotions were all over the place.

“I could have killed you..” That phrase echoed in the vampire’s mind, the gravity of the situation hitting him full force. He had to stop. He couldn’t take any more of Patrick’s blood, no. Even if he said it was okay, what if next time it happened, he drained him dry? Sure he couldn’t turn into a vampire, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t kill him.

“Pete, really… I’m alive, I-I’m okay.” He didn’t like seeing his friend beat himself up like this. Patrick reached his hand out to try and calm him down, but Pete just inched away from him in response.

“You shouldn’t be near me.”

“Pete.” Patrick frowned at him. Pete had been avoiding him for weeks, and now that they finally got to talking again, he just pulled away again. “Pete, please…”

The vampire shook his head, seeing himself as more of a danger to Patrick than the demon that was inside of him. If the demon took control, they could just shut it back out. If Pete lost control around Patrick again, it’d be much harder to restrain him and make him ignore his instincts. “It’s for your own safety.”

“Fuck safety, man, you’re my best friend.” Patrick gave the vampire a one armed hug to try and calm him down still. And for once the vampire felt so  _warm_. “I’m okay. Y-you’re okay. We’re all g-good.” He didn’t want to admit how much energy it took for him to even move, still feeling weak from the pain and the lack of blood, but he wanted to show Pete that he really was as okay as he was saying.

Pete cringed at the contact but didn’t move away this time. His wings moved to wrap around Patrick too to keep him close as the vampire buried his face against his own knees, not looking at Patrick.

Patrick felt Pete shaking a bit, and soon heard a sob come from his friend, which caused him to frown again. “Pete, what’s going on?” It really wasn’t like him to start crying like this about something, about anything honestly.

“I-I could have k-killed you…” He said again, the thought of him losing his friend making him lose control over the emotions that had been flooding up within him. “Y-you need to stay away.” He said. Even as he said this though, his wing that was around Patrick just pulled him closer, not wanting to admit that he didn’t want to be alone. "Th-these damn things have a mind of their own." He tried to play it off as if it wasn't his intention to keep his friend close.

"I'm-I'm not going anywhere." Patrick intended to stay right beside Pete until he calmed back down. It came out as a bit of a quiet mumble though as he was trying to fight off the sleep that his body demanded to make up for the lost blood.

Noticing that in Patrick's voice, Pete sat back up and rubbed at his eyes to make it seem as if he wasn't just crying despite the fact Patrick had heard. "Just... Just get some sleep." He loosened his wing's grip around Patrick, still keeping it draped over him as a sort of blanket though.

Patrick nodded slightly at Pete's request, knowing he couldn't hold back his tiredness for much longer. "Don't... Don't go beating yourself up." He mumbled, deciding to make himself comfortable against Pete, warm, undead Pete, not having the energy to move from his spot. It felt like a split second before Patrick was sound asleep against Pete's shoulder.

Pete considered just going to sleep like this too, but if Andy were to come in to wake them up, he would see the mess that was Patrick's shoulder and probably assume the worst. So, after a few minutes of relaxing in his friend's presence, trying desperately to warm him back up, to give him the heat he'd stolen, Pete moved and gently laid Patrick down on the bed, moving the blanket so it would cover his shoulders. Thankfully Patrick didn't stir from the movements, his body probably too extremely tired to care.

Pete moved over to the other bed, trying to find a comfortable position to lie in due to the wings protruding from his back. It made things a bit more difficult, but he managed to find a position that worked and went with it, looking at Patrick sleep for a few minutes before he ended up drifting off as well.

 

Andy woke up and looked at the clock. Ten am? Damn, he overslept. He rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes and sat up, taking a deep breath. It had been, what, four days since they last performed the ritual for Patrick? The demon would likely be making an appearance any day now. Andy sighed. They were all struggling to get over the events of the past month. They coped the only way the knew how- by writing music. But even that had been made difficult by the presence of the demon in Patrick’s body. Pete was drinking heavily and could barely stand to be around Patrick, while Patrick was always tired or incapacitated, and Joe and Andy were just struggling to recover, at the same time trying to keep Pete and Patrick safe from themselves and each other. He shook his head, trying to take his mind off the worst of the past month. He wouldn't admit it, but he still had nightmares about Xibalba. That creature, that thing was seared into the back of his eyelids. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to forget the monster that nearly killed them. He got up and put on one of his crossfit shirts, then heading across the house to where he figured Pete had slept. It didn't sound like anyone else was up, so he knocked gently on the door. There was no answer, so he opened it. First he saw Pete, sleeping soundly. It looked as though he had a pillow up against his back or something, the sheet pulled up to his neck. _That's weird, he usually sleeps on top of the sheets,_ Andy thought. He went in to get him up, but as he entered the room he saw the other bed was occupied. _What's Patrick doing in here?_ He took a look at the resting man, and he thought he noticed something slightly off. Was that...? Andy stepped closer. He saw the vague outline of a half-circle shaped scar just peeking out from beneath the sheets. _Has that always been there?_

At first he went to dismiss it as something that might have occurred during their hiatus from the band, but as he looked at it, it looked to be a bit bruised looking, which meant that it was something that probably occurred recently. That, and the fact the demon would use its powers to heal any wounds that its host received meant that it had to be something recent. Andy furrowed his brow in confusion, wondering what could have caused something like that to happen. He looked back over to Pete, and an obvious answer finally clicked. His initial instinct would be to go wake Pete up and hold him accountable for his actions, but it seemed like Patrick was still Patrick, so they didn't have another Mikey situation on their hands, at least. After a minute of thought, Andy decided to not say anything, wondering how long the two of them would be able to keep the charade until one of them slipped up. He left the room and closed the door behind him, letting them get up on their own terms.

 

Pete was the first to wake about a half hour later. He stretched out, and he was soon reminded of his wings that were still very much there. How would he explain it to the guys? They knew he wasn't one to use his wings very often, if at all. Pete sighed and looked to Patrick, who was still very sound asleep. For once since his first bite though, he didn't find himself particularly thirsty, even for Patrick's blood. He figured he probably drank so much last night that he'd be satisfied for a while to come. He went to stand up, nearly falling down though at the imbalance his wings caused him. Pete definitely wasn't used to these things. He sighed but walked over to Patrick, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him up. And be sure he's actually still alive. He received a tired groan in response, and Patrick turned away from Pete.

"Let me sleep..." He mumbled, burying his face in the pillow tiredly. Having so much blood taken made Patrick extremely tired. "You try having half your blood drained from you, man.." Patrick sighed, and almost immediately after was fast asleep once again.

Pete sighed at their short exchange, still feeling guilty for how much he had taken from his friend. He decided to obey his wishes, letting him sleep in a bit longer. Besides, his scent was at least bearable when he was asleep.

Pete headed back to the basement, seeing Joe and Andy were already down there.

"What's with those?" Joe asked, motioning to the very obvious wings coming from Pete's back.

Pete really had no decent excuse for them. "It'd been awhile since I had them out." He shrugged, plopping down on the couch across from them. "Just wanted to see if they looked different or anything."

Joe gave him a look, hardly believing what he said but chose not to pursue the manner. It was Pete's own business, he figured.

Andy offered to make everyone some late breakfast, and at everyone agreeing he went to the kitchen to go and make everyone the best vegan breakfast they'd ever had.

Pete never really understood the whole vegan thing, especially being a vampire. Can't exactly make a vampire turn vegan, despite his best attempts to.

When Andy had brought down late breakfast, that was about the time they heard Patrick making his way down the stairs. Everyone was used to Patrick being a late sleeper, but even now it looked like he'd fall back asleep at any given moment.

"Dude you okay?" Joe frowned at his friend, wondering what had him so exhausted.

Patrick nodded tiredly, plopping down on the couch beside Pete, which earned a look of confusion from Joe. It didn't make sense. Pete didn't move away, and it was as if the whole demon thing wasn't a big impact on their friendship. Something was up, he just couldn't place it. He was glad they seemed to be getting along again, but it just felt like odd timing.

Patrick still felt as tired as he looked, wanting to have slept the whole day if it was possible, but he didn't want to cause worry among the others. Pete was admittedly glad about how tired Patrick was, because the closer he was to sleep, the less he felt the demonic presence within his friend. At this point, even his eyes looked normal to Pete again, and the smell was more like a dull scent of the once absolutely repulsive odor. Sleepy Patrick felt safer to him. Perhaps, too, his instincts being almost completely non-present helped.

Patrick tried stifling a yawn as he went to go grab a piece of the vegan pancakes Andy had made, but he heard something. Something bad.

_You need to learn these charms aren't fucking working._

Patrick looked wide-eyed at Pete, who was picking at his food a bit, not particularly interested in eating at the moment. "Pete, I think-"

As the vampire looked to his friend, he felt his stomach drop as he saw Patrick's eyes return to that demonic yellow. It was only a second later Patrick lunged at Pete, definitely with intent to kill.

Luckily, due to the power boost he'd taken from Patrick last night, his reflexes were faster and he was able to pin him down by his arms against the couch with little effort. "Guys, problem."

Andy and Joe took notice, and Joe went to go and ready the shackles for Patrick to be strapped in once more.

"Hah... Did you plan this?" Patrick growled at the vampire, his voice deepened and guttural, trying to break free of his grasp. "Did you think that draining me nearly dry would make it easier for you to fight me off?"

Hearing that, both Andy and Joe looked at the two of them.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Pete tried to play it as if the demon was just spewing nonsense, not wanting their secret exposed.

"What did you think I'm talking about, you fuckass?" Patrick- the demon- kept struggling against Pete's grip, hoping that he'd let down his guard and he would be released.

Pete shook his head, trying not to let the demon distract him. "I don't-"

"There are fucking gashes in my shoulder! And, ooh, I see." Patrick smirked as he glanced over to the other's expressions. "You wanted to keep this a secret? Keep your fucking uncontrollable bloodlust a fucking secret, huh?"

Pete didn't like how this was turning. He needed to get the demon to shut up, but knocking him out meant hurting Patrick, something he felt he'd already done plenty of times within the past day.

"What ever happened to no secrets between band mates, Pete?" Patrick turned his attention back to the vampire holding him down. "Did you lie to everybody? Ahh, how will they ever trust you again?"

Pete was getting angrier, his grip on the demon growing tighter.

"The, uh, come bring him over." Joe called out, the restraints being ready to withstand the demon's presence. He felt uneasy with the situation the demon presented. Pete had been drinking blood from Patrick? The more he thought about it, the more sense everything started to make, admittedly. He shook his head. No, their focus right now is holding back that demon so they could get their friend back. Then they can address this issue.

It was easier than usual to get the demon tied up in the restraints, definitely due to the fact its host was in a weakened state, which meant that it was too.

"These charms do jackshit. You better find something better if you really want me gone." The creature that looked like Patrick taunted, looking mostly at Andy, who was the one in charge of enacting the rituals and charms. "It's getting easier to find my way out. And next time," he looked over to Pete, "you might not have the grace of me in a weaker state." He knew that once things settled down from his presence, they would cut the vampire off from drinking from his host again. Then next time he broke through their measly charms, he'd be more than ready to finally be rid of them. It was then that he realized that the talking he'd done prior was a good enough distraction. He broke his left arm free of the restraints with ease, Joe having had been too distracted to remember that Patrick's left restraint can't be around his wrist like the right one could. His lack of actual hand there made it easy for him to slip free of it.

At seeing Patrick start to free, Pete quickly pinned the demon's arm against the wall tightly so he wouldn't be able to do any damage. He gave Joe a look for not having done it correctly, but before he could retort, the demon made mention of something not so easily ignored:

The demon seemed to be listening to something, then turned his attention back to the other three in front of him. He growled in a low voice. "Mmm what's this? How lucky. It seems one of my kind has just been born into your world." Patrick laughed, smirking. "This just got a whole lot more interesting."

 

 


	5. In the Vegas Lights, Where Villains Spend the Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and death

Brendon was freaking out. That is, he _should_ be freaking out. But he wasn't. And that was freaking him out instead. He looked at his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd just done, couldn't believe the blood on his hands was real. After she had arrived, he immediately regretted hiring her. Buying a prostitute? He was a married man, for heaven's sake, and Sarah had been all he ever needed. He had tried to send her away, but she demanded payment. She had come all the way out here, after all, and she wasn't about to leave without some kind of reimbursement. They had argued, and Brendon had completely lost his temper. It was an accident, he had told himself as he dropped the handle of the shattered coffee pot. Just an accident. At first he tried to stop the bleeding, but he realized that if she survived, and it didn't look like she would, she would tell someone. He couldn't see a way out of it, and no one would believe it was an accident. No one would care. He made a decision. He would never tell anyone, but before he understood what he'd done, he found himself lifting the pillow off of her face, her body limp and lifeless.

That was when he should have been freaking out.

He wasn't.

He could have sworn he was hearing things. Voices. He couldn't make out what they said, but they were definitely voices. He looked at himself in the mirror, still unable to believe what had just happened. He shook his head in an attempt to get him out of his funk, and turned the water on to wash the blood off his hands. The red rinsed down the drain easily, and he took a deep breath. He sat in the hotel chair, trying to figure out what to do. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, but was visited by a strange vision of the nearby desert. When he again opened them, he felt a strange pull to the place he had dreamt of. It had been nothing but dry, flat land for miles. There were no indicators of where in the desert this vision had shown. But he knew. He didn’t understand how, but he knew. He stood, somehow both sure of himself and incredibly anxious. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or why, but he knew he was going to go. He had to. Something out in the desert was calling him, and he was determined to answer. He left the hotel room, the poor girl’s body resting on the bed, and got into his car and started to drive. He wasn’t familiar with the area. It was a tiny motel in a small Nevada town on the outskirts of Vegas; he had used a fake name and paid in cash, and he knew there were no cameras. He didn’t know the roads, but he found himself en route to his destination, not quite sure how he knew where was going. But he did know. He _knew_ he knew. Each turn presented itself to his mind before he got to the intersection, and he would turn without thinking, still trying to listen to the voices, hear what they were trying to tell him. Before long, he drove off the road and into the vast desert beyond.

 

He drove for miles. He was getting close. He could feel it. He could _hear_ it. The voices were stronger, louder, more distinct. But there were so many he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He thought he heard snippets, goading him on, yelling at him to continue. He listened. He drove in the silent car for a further thirty minutes before feeling compelled to stop. He looked around at the landscape. There was nothing for miles. No lights but the headlights. The moon lit up the desert, highlighting the cracks in the ground. Brendon stepped out of his car and the voices fell silent. He heard just one. A guttural, commanding female voice.

"Walk."

At first he wondered which direction he was meant to go, but his feet started almost on their own, and he felt like he was being pulled. He had no watch, his phone was dead, and he had no idea what time it was or for how long he had been walking. He estimated an hour, and surprisingly his feet weren't even slightly tired. As he had walked, a fog had rolled in, and the further he went, the thicker it had gotten. He thought about being scared, or worried. But he wasn't.

This fog felt comfortable.

"Stop." Brendon heard. He obeyed.

Slowly, the fog cleared, and before him stood a strangely adorned woman, sheathed in a black dress. His breath faltered. He knew her name. Why did he know her name? Her skin was gray as ash, her eyes burning with a strange fire. She looked him over, judging him.

He bowed. He wasn't sure why, but he did. His body was acting almost on its own. He could have stopped. He didn't want to.

"Lilith," he greeted, almost reverently.

The demoness said nothing, merely motioning him to stand. Her head tilted slightly and her eyebrow raised, silently posing a question. Somehow, Brendon understood. He felt his mouth open, and something inside him unhinged. Lilith came forward, accepting his response as affirmation. He could have backed down, turned away, changed his mind.

He didn't.

She brought herself close, lifting his chin with one long, pointed finger. Quickly she brought her lips to his, kissing him, and at the same time, feeding. He felt his soul exit his frame, and holy _Hell_ did it hurt. She released him, standing away and looking at his still form. He felt empty. Hollow. He could stand, he could think, and if he really tried he could probably move. But it wasn't over, he could tell.

The demoness gently exhaled something not unlike smoke, and looked him up and down once more. Her head tilted slightly the other way, and she reached across her body and drew forth a sword of an indescribable hellish figure. Brendon thought perhaps he might die tonight, but she didn't raise the sword. She held it out in offering to him. He reached and took it in his hand, marveling slightly at its dark craftsmanship. At first he was unsure why she had given him the weapon, but as he looked over the blade, she knelt before him, submitting herself to his will. He stared at her for a minute, comprehending what was before him. With no second thoughts, he swung the blade, slicing into her bare neck. From the cut, a strange purple smog came streaming forth, and Brendon could hear the screams of thousands of damned souls. For a moment, he thought he heard his own.

The smog soon overtook him, and as he breathed it in, he felt himself change. No longer did he feel hollow. He had purpose. And power. He breathed deeply, greedily, filling up his lungs and his body with this strange darkness, this hellish magic. The smoke began to seep into his every pore, turning his skin a similar ashen color to the demoness he had killed. It clouded his vision, overtaking his eyes, and soon, he saw before him the true form of the demon Lilith, an indescribable creature, a master to him, whose aura was blacker than any darkness he had ever experienced. As the smog disappeared into his veins, so too did the body of Lilith vanish, and he was left standing alone in the desert, reborn of hellfire and brimstone.

 

* * *

 

In his home in Utah, Dallon had been washing dishes from his family’s dinner when he felt it. The sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach tipped him off. _Brendon.._ He shook his head in defeat. There was no going back for him, now. Dallon sighed, turning the water off. There was no point in rushing to find Brendon immediately, he would deal with it in a day or two. But _how_ would he deal with it? He knew what had happened. To some extent, anyway. That was the whole point of his being there, with Brendon, in the band. To try and prevent this from happening. It wasn’t that he failed, ultimately it was to be Brendon’s choice, but that didn’t change how Dallon felt.

Dallon looked down at the draining water. More importantly, how was Brendon going to react when he found out about him? The man-turned-demon had never seen Dallon’s true form before, and their kinds were natural enemies. Dallon liked Brendon, he didn’t want to have to deal with this, he didn’t want to argue or to fight or anything. But it was inevitable.

Once he had finished with the dishes, Dallon sent a text Brendon's way: _Text me when you get this._ He knew there was nothing he could do to reverse Brendon's decision, and there wasn't a huge need to get in contact with him immediately, but he couldn't leave the issue unaddressed. Brendon would know what he was as soon as he saw him again. The only good side to this, although there was barely a good one, was that he was only a lesser demon. The lessers aren't meant to harm humans physically after their change, so he didn't have to worry about Brendon killing anyone. Or, killing anyone else, rather. Anyone human. He was briefed on what choosing the path to become a demon meant, which meant Brendon had made a mistake and decided to follow those dark voices instead of ignoring them like he should have done. Dallon sighed. _Brendon **would** be the one to listen to the sudden voices in his head, wouldn’t he?_ Dallon was wishing he had taken better precautions before Brendon insisted he needed to go on a vacation for a while. He leaves him alone for a short amount of time and this crap always happens. Dallon glanced out the window with a frown. Maybe taking a flight will help clear his mind about how to deal with the newly born demon. 


	6. Chapter 6

Two days later, Brendon finally returned Dallon's message, telling him he should come visit him in his studio so they can continue to work on music for the new album they had planned. Dallon was on the first flight to LA, still unsure how he'd end up going about talking to Brendon though. He hadn't told anyone about what he was. Dallon didn't find it that important to let people know. He was still himself regardless of he was, and that's what he tries to focus on with dealing with the Brendon situation. In the end, Brendon was still Brendon, despite his new choices. Easier said than accepted though.

He sighed as the plane landed. Brendon said that he would pick him up at the airport, which meant that he really had no time left to think of how to explain this all to him.

Brendon, on the other hand, felt excited about his decisions and his new self. He felt like he was meant to be this way all along. He felt free and unbound, like he could do anything he pleased with no consequences.

It seemed that everyone else around still saw him as a human, which was fine by him. He was debating on whether or not to let Dallon know about the events that had happened to him in the past few days. Dallon might think it was cool or something, and they don't have a reason to keep secrets from each other or anything. If the other was in his situation, he'd let him know right? Yeah, so why not let Dallon know about it?

The announcement chimed saying that the plane Dallon was on had arrived, and Brendon grinned, eager to let his friend know about what had happened.

As he caught sight of Dallon, he headed towards him before stopping himself and looking at his friend curiously. He... looked different. Before noticing the extremely obvious thing about Dallon, just his presence felt weird. And he was kinda... glowy, for lack of a better description. And it was then that Brendon finally noticed the dead giveaway. The huge white wings coming from Dallon's back. No one else seemed to notice them, so it obviously wasn't just some sort of costume that he'd put on. The more he looked, the less "present" they seemed. They shimmered slightly and he thought maybe he felt he could see them as opposed to actually being able to see them.

Dallon was an angel.

When Dallon stopped a few feet in front of Brendon, his beliefs were confirmed. His friend really was a demon now. His features were off, and most noticeable were those "semi-present" ram-like horns on either side of his head.

They stood with space between them for what seemed like ages without speaking, just taking in the new appearance of each other. Dallon was the first to break the silence, taking a step towards Brendon. "So, I guess you had an eventful time in Nevada?"

Brendon frowned at him, still taking in the fact that his friend looked and felt like someone that should be his enemy. "So, I guess you're a fucking liar huh?" He asked, retaliation in his voice.

This time it was Dallon's turn to frown. "Lie about what?"

Brendon motioned at him, still unsure what to feel about this. "You're a fucking angel."

"Aww well that's sweet of you." Dallon laughed a bit, trying to alleviate the tension that was very obvious. At no reaction from the other though, he sighed. "It wasn't a lie if you never asked."

"I never thought I'd have a reason to ask, man." Brendon shook his head, trying to calm down.

Okay. His bassist was an angel. And he was a demon. Naturally, he felt he should be trying to rip Dallon apart or something. He let out his breath, thinking of what he could say next.

"Let's get going." Brendon turned, not wanting to say much else about the subject right now. Dallon understood, going to follow behind him to his car.

Needless to say, the car ride back to Brendon's home was rather quiet. It was totally exuding awkwardness, and Brendon hated feeling that way, especially about his friend.

"So," the demon started, trying to start conversation, "those things look like they're annoying." He gestured toward the large not-there but still visible wings that looked a lot bigger within the confined space of the car.

Dallon gave a shrug, not really thinking too much of them. He'd gotten so used to them that he never really thought of them as an issue. "They aren't too bad." He looked over at Brendon as he drove. "And, uh, how are you adjusting?" Knowing Brendon, he was probably having the time of his life with these new powers that came along with being a demon.

Brendon shrugged in response as well, regretting having started conversation with him. It felt different. He shouldn't just be sitting here and chatting with Dallon. He's an angel. He's a fucking angel, and he never told him.

At lack of a real answer, Dallon tried to keep the conversation going, sensing the lack of trust that Brendon now held. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I haven't told anyone, honestly."

Brendon rolled his eyes as he kept driving. He was going to tell Dallon _right off the bat_ what had happened to him because things like this shouldn't be kept secret from your friends. And, honestly, he hardly believed that Dallon hadn't told anyone else. He was sure Kenny and Spence probably knew long before him, and his wife, his family, and literally everyone else but him. "Yeah, sure man."

Dallon frowned at hearing the tone in Brendon's voice. "I don't have a reason to lie to you, I'm being truthful." He never found being a lesser angel as a big deal. Nothing in his life really changed after it'd happened. He still felt like he did years before he became an angel. The only differences were huge wings and an amount of white magic at his disposal. Well, and knowledge.

"Oh and I suppose I should just fucking believe you because you're a fucking halo-boy?" Brendon side-eyed him, getting more and more pissed. He saw Dallon's aura shrink at the insult. He thought about feeling bad, but he didn't. He wanted to hate him, he was supposed to hate him. Sure he knew that angels didn't lie, and sure he knew that Dallon probably couldn't get around that part of his genetic and magical makeup, but he was mad, and he didn't care.

 _Halo-boy?_ Dallon hadn’t heard angel-specific insults before, and even though he knew it was stupid, he still felt its sting. He felt himself shrink back just slightly. He really didn’t expect this amount of hostility from Brendon. Well, yes, he did, but he thought it would be like, his instincts or something. He wasn’t prepared for their trust to just be completely broken because he didn’t tell him sooner. He really wanted to fix things before they got worse. “Brendon, please, can we at least have a decent conversation? Can we talk?” He asked him, pleading for a chance to make it right.

Brendon pulled the car over suddenly, even though they were only a few minutes from his house. He looked at Dallon, his eyes cold. “You want a decent conversation? Fine. Let’s have a decent fucking conversation, o holy one.”

Dallon stared him down, he really wanted to be angry. He wanted to hurl insults back at the creature before him, this thing that had assimilated his best friend’s consciousness. But he knew arguing would just add fuel to the fire, and he really didn’t care for fire. He took a deep breath and began. “Brendon, I can promise you two things.” Brendon raised an eyebrow. “One, that I have never told anyone in my life, and two, my trial happened well before I was ever in Panic!. I hadn’t even met Breezy. It was a long time ago, and it’s not something I think about often.”

Brendon looked focused, his brows coming together. “Your trial?” He saw Dallon take a deep breath.

“Y.. yeah. My trial.” He looked away defensively. He wanted to bury those memories. “You had a trial, too. You made that decision the other night. And I made mine a long time ago.” Brendon gave him a look of doubt, but he seemed to accept that.

“What kind of hard trial could a potential angel even have to deal with?” The sarcasm dripped out of his mouth. If all _he_ had to do was accidentally kill someone to become this powerful, what kind of pansy situation did Dallon have to deal with to become a goody-two-shoes bird? Dallon’s demeanor changed almost immediately, and Brendon was left wondering. It was obvious Dallon didn’t want to talk about it. “Wimp.” Brendon breathed, and Dallon shot him a glare that was seriously terrifying.

“Don’t you ever think that I don’t have what it takes to take you out, Brendon.” He wasn’t lying, he had the power to eliminate him, although it wouldn’t be an easy fight. “But I’m not here to get rid of you.”

It dawned on Brendon that Dallon had just _known_ that he had gone through something in Nevada. “Then what are you here for? How the fuck did you know about my trial?” Brendon was incredibly on edge. Dallon knew a lot about his kind, and he knew so little about angels. He just knew he hated them. And when he looked at Dallon, it was difficult to see him as the friend he once had, and easy to see him as the disgusting angel he was. Dallon looked away.

“You have to understand-”

“Just fucking tell me.” Brendon interrupted. He didn’t have time for beating around the bush.

Dallon let out a heavy sigh. “It’s my job to be here, Brendon. It’s been my job since I joined Panic!.” He tried to make it concise. But after he had paused a moment, he thought to add a bit more. “And I really really like my job.”

“Your _job?!_ ” Brendon thought he saw fucking red. “So the band has been what to you, a fucking day job? Gotta keep an eye on your good buddy Brendon or some shit?” He was just a hair shy of screaming in Dallon’s face. “You joined to fucking watch me, Dal? What the fuck?” He gripped the shift stick as hard as he could to keep himself from throwing punches. Dallon steeled himself against Brendon’s words as long as he could, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He opened the door and got out, desperately needing fresh air, air that didn’t smell vaguely of sulfur, air that wasn’t being taken up by Brendon’s anger.

Naturally, Brendon followed.

“Dallon where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Dallon turned again to face him, frowning sourly. “I’m trying to get some space. I’m trying to breathe. I’m trying, Brendon, to get you to listen to me.”

Brendon wouldn’t let up. He was full of red hot rage, and it demanded to be felt. “Why the fuck should I listen to you, birdbrain? The last thing I can do is trust you!” He screamed. They were lucky they were so close to Brendon’s, there wasn’t much around, and certainly no one could hear them.

Dallon made a snap decision. “You better learn to trust me real fast, man.” He said as he started running for Brendon, who braced himself for a fight. As Dallon got closer, Brendon noticed his wings looked a little more tangible, and before he had time to react, Dallon had given a great flap, wrapping his arms around the much shorter demon, and lifted them both up into the sky.

For a great moment, Brendon struggled against the angel’s grip, at least until he realized if he tried too hard to break free, he’d be falling nearly a hundred feet. “You’re going to listen to me,” Dallon called to him, his voice piercing the wind flying through his ears. “Or I’m going to drop you.”

 _Shit,_ Brendon thought. _Not lying._ He thought it best to probably not say anything, because all he wanted to say would have earned him a decent splat on the ground below. Demons, unfortunately, were still prone to the dangers of falling a hundred feet.

Noticing Brendon’s complacent silence, Dallon began, barely having to yell over the wind, his voice being carried to Brendon on white magic. “When I saw you, I knew what you were practically destined to become.” _Damn right I was meant to be this._ “And when I saw you, I knew it was my job to make an attempt to stop you. To give you an out, other options.” Brendon rolled his eyes, but Dallon couldn’t see. He was kind of busy flying. “But you know what, Brendon? I’ve always liked playing bass, and being part of the band is one of the best things I’ve ever decided to do. I’m your friend, man, I’ve always been your friend. That was never fake. And I really _really_ do not want that to change over something as simple as this.”

Brendon was scowling. He knew Dallon was right-- but he couldn’t shake his anger. “What about no secrets?” Brendon pulled out one of the most important rules in the unwritten book. He felt Dallon’s grip on him grow tighter, having let it accidentally slip a bit over time.

The angel sighed, and he knew he didn’t really have a great answer. “None of you were ready for that kind of truth.” He paused. “And you know that Spence and Kenny still aren’t. You know that.”

Brendon was getting really sick of not being on the ground. “Can you please get us down? I won’t fucking yell.” He asked, knowing full well that Dallon was right. It only made sense to him now because he was a demon now, but when he tried to imagine what it might have been like a week ago, he couldn’t figure it out. He remembered a week ago, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was like being him a week ago, so weak and helpless and absolutely fucking oblivious to what lie before him. Dallon must have heard him, because soon enough they were landing back near the car, Dallon releasing him and his wings going back to their not-quite-real shimmer. He was looking at Brendon with worry and hope smeared across his face. Part of him thought it looked disgusting. Part of him worried back. _Fuck_ this was _Dallon_ in front of him. One of his best fucking friends. _One of my best friends that’s a fucking angel of all shitty things to be,_ he found himself thinking. He shook his head, trying desperately to shake off the anger he’d been feeling since picking him up at the airport.

“Brendon?” Dallon asked inquisitively; he could tell Brendon was stuck on something.

For the first time since he had made the deal and lost his soul, Brendon doubted himself. “Fuck, Dal..” He covered his face with his hands, feeling for a moment just a bit more human. Feeling like maybe he didn’t want to lose a friend to this, angel or not. He leaned against the car and groaned into his palms, redirecting what was left of his anger at himself. Dallon gave a heavy exhale, walking to and leaning against the car next to Brendon.

“Me too.” He looked down. He wasn’t prepared like he thought he was; Brendon’s presence made him incredibly uneasy, and his dark aura didn’t mesh well with his own. Just looking at him and seeing the difference between Brendon a week ago and Brendon now left a bad taste in his mouth. He put his hands into his jean pockets, staring a little too pointedly at his brown shoes. Brendon slid down the car until he was sitting. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He admitted. “I don’t know who you are. I mean, I know you’re you, man, I just..” He sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees loosely, at a loss.

“Me too,” Dallon repeated. “It’s that gut feeling, right? That twist in your stomach when you look at me?” He asked quietly. He almost hated himself for letting it come to this, though he knew it had always been beyond his power. Brendon looked up at him, but Dallon remained focused on the curve of the leather on his feet. There it was, that gross gnawing at his insides when he saw the taller man’s aura, his wings, his existence.

“Yeah.” He said, looking back down, trying to ignore it.

“You get used to it.” Dallon almost scoffed at himself. Like that was supposed to help? Hey Brendon, you know that disgusting feeling you get when you look at me? You get used to it. What a joke. Still, this situation was slightly resolved, so their friendship still had a chance, right?

After a long while, Brendon stood again, willing himself to face Dallon. “I’ll have to.”

Dallon finally looked up from his shoes, which really weren’t that interesting anyway. He saw Brendon’s hand extended towards him. Did the _demon_ just make the first friendly gesture? It didn’t sit right with him, but yes, he did. Still, he took Brendon’s hand and he was pulled into one of the strangest hugs he’d ever experienced. It occurred as naturally as any other time, but their auras mixed and they both felt it. It wasn’t unpleasant, it just wasn’t what either of them had expected. When they released, they both briefly saw wisps of grey between them, dissipating quickly, separating and rejoining their respective auras. Dallon inhaled sharply at the same time as Brendon. Dallon wasn’t sure what had happened, but he felt fairly certain he and Brendon were thrown into some twisted brotherly version of Romeo and Juliet. They exhaled, and he could see a strange smirk creep itself onto Brendon’s face.

“That was.. almost exhilarating.” Brendon felt himself start to smile, the way you do when you’ve done something risky and came out alive. He shook his head sharply, shaking off the tension. “Let’s get you to my place.”

Dallon stood still for a minute, trying to process the past half hour. On the plus side, Brendon wasn’t hostile at him anymore. He was even trying to be friendly, finally. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure at all what the future held, or why he had no answers for their auras mixing briefly. He released his breath, unaware he had been holding it, his focus coming back to the present. “Yeah,” he muttered as he opened the car door and sat back inside. He half smiled at Brendon, who had his devilish grin spread wide and his sunglasses back on. “Thanks, Bren.”

Brendon turned on the radio in response and started jamming out, and he felt like his old self for a time.

Well, better than his old self.

So much better.


	7. Chapter 7

"Patrick?"

The man in question groaned tiredly, pained, not really able to form a response other than that. These rituals were getting more and more painful. The demon was right. They can't keep doing this.

Andy undid the restraints, and he and Joe helped Patrick make his way to the couch to lay down and recover. Pete had gone to help, but remembering that the demon had spoiled their secret, he chose to keep his distance again. As soon as Patrick laid down, it looked as if he was fast asleep, or passed out, one of the two. Andy looked to Pete, the attention needing to be on him right now, now that they got Patrick under control.

“You bit Patrick?” Andy pointed to the couch that wasn’t occupied by Patrick, telling Pete to sit there. Pete obeyed, knowing he wasn’t in a position to be arguing with them. As he sat, his wings clung tight against himself, hanging his head low as he nodded.

“Tw-twice.” He admitted. Pete still felt totally ashamed and guilty about it, and at saying that he’d done it twice, he could sense the other two get increasingly angry with that added fact.

“Twice?” Joe looked at Pete before looking back to Patrick, seeing the very faint remains of the first punctures against his neck. “Fucking, Pete,” his voice was strained. “You did that twice?”

Pete shrunk back into the couch a bit, nodding. It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to let them know he wanted to do it much more than twice. Sure he was pretty full for now since he’d taken so much, but if Patrick were to start bleeding he wasn’t sure if he could resist the smell of it.

“Do you have any fucking idea how dangerous that is?” Andy wanted to yell, but Patrick needed rest. There was a long pause while he let Pete think about it. Yeah, Pete looked guilty, ashamed, the whole nine yards, but he apparently wasn’t ashamed enough to stop himself the second time. “I’m cutting you back. You need to stop binging.” Andy frowned at Pete. “One packet every three days until you can control yourself.”

The vampire cringed a bit, but nodded again. Compared to how much he’d been taking previously, one packet every few hours, that was going to be hard. They’d likely have to restrain him until he got back into his usual rhythm. He knew Andy was right, but he didn’t like the idea of being cut back so much at once. Still, he dared not protest.

There was a long, painful silence.

“So, Patrick’s not a vampire at least.” Joe remarked, semi-awkwardly, trying to alleviate the situation a bit. He did definitely still feel lied to and betrayed, but he didn’t want to stay mad at Pete and he wasn’t really one to hold a grudge against someone, especially a friend.

“Y-yeah, uh, I’m guessing it has to do with the demon.” Pete answered, quietly and without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Andy wasn’t going to let the conversation stay away from Pete’s consequences. “You need to keep your distance from Patrick until you get back in your normal routine.”

“What?” Pete looked to Andy, rather hurt by that demand. He’d spent the last month keeping his distance from his best friend, and now that he had started talking with him again, Andy wanted them to stop? It made sense, but he didn’t like it. It had hurt both him and Patrick when he was avoiding him, he didn’t want to do that again.

“You can’t bite him again, Pete, you understand?” Andy wasn’t taking no for an answer. With how often they had to do the ritual, it wasn’t good for Patrick to be in such a weakened state beforehand. It would take him much longer to recover than usual, and by the time he’d be fully recovered, the demon would probably take over again and it would just be a bad circle. A very bad circle. 

“I-I won’t bite him, but-”

“Keep away until you can control yourself.” Andy reiterated. “It’d be too tempting for you until you can settle down from the bloodlust.”

Pete’s wings clung tighter to himself as he looked down in defeat, knowing he couldn’t argue with him. When this had happened with Mikey they weren’t happy with him either, although the vampirism involved made not only his own band mates angry with him, but Mikey’s too. He was pretty sure that Gerard still held a grudge against what he’d done to his brother. But basically, this was not the worst he had been put through by the guys.

Joe looked at the clock. Shit, was it really that early in the evening? It was only about five, and so much had happened. His wife wasn’t expecting him to be home for a few hours, and he really didn’t want to come up with a reason for leaving early. He looked over at Andy, frustratedly picking up the items he used for the ritual. In the time since the incident, Andy had become pretty well versed in using magic, manipulating the elements. Joe had joked that he was turning into a witch or something, and offered to get him a drumstick that doubled as a wand. Andy had just stared at him with a look that said “are you serious?” before bursting out laughing. “Need any help picking up, man?” Joe asked him.

Andy shook his head. “No, I’ve got it. It all has to go back right, anyway.” He lifted the last item into his over-full arms and went to a closet in the corner of his basement. He had been accumulating all kinds of supplies, learning on his own time how to work the neutral magic of the world in the way he needed to. It had started with the ritual, yes, but the first day they had bent magic to their will, it had sat right with him. He put the reusable supplies away in their places, and thought about what to do next. Clearly, the charm they had been using was getting weaker. Even with Pete draining Patrick, and therefore, the demon, it felt like the time between rituals was getting incrementally smaller. He gave a heavy sigh and turned back to his bandmates, seeing Pete practically hiding himself with his wings, and Joe sitting by Patrick, lost in thought.

“Are you sure making the not-blood smoothie won’t help, Pete?” Joe asked after a few minutes. “I mean, it’s been years since you stopped drinking it, since it stopped working. Maybe it could help again.” He waited for some kind of response from Pete, but the vampire didn’t budge. It looked like he wasn’t even breathing, just cocooning himself off from the rest of the world.

“I say it’s worth a try.” Andy answered for him. “It’s been so long his body might have gotten over its resistance.” He stood behind Pete’s figure, curled into himself on the couch. “Pete, I’m done being angry.” He tried to get some kind of response, but Pete didn’t move.

He didn’t want to move. He figured if he never moved again, he’d never put Patrick at risk. Fuck, how had he let himself think this all was a good idea? How had he convinced Patrick? He hadn’t even charmed him, though he could have. He could charm Joe and Andy, too, he thought. But he hadn’t used his powers in almost a decade. He wasn’t sure how useful they really were anymore. He did his best to stop thinking, to stop moving. He even allowed his lungs to stop breathing- he didn’t need to, why bother?

He remained still as Joe and Andy talked about the items they’d need for the not-blood concoction. Andy seemed sure he could make it more potent, said he could study up on it. He remained still as they discussed a way to add a second set of manacles in case they needed to restrain Pete and Patrick. He remained still as Joe excused himself to go home. He remained still for hours, Gargoyling himself from the rest of the world, not thinking about how much he’d fucked up, not thinking about how he still wasn’t thirsty, not thinking about Andy’s once-normal basement turning into some kind of dungeon for the inhuman and insane, not thinking about Mikey, not thinking about magic, not thinking about Patrick’s tired body sleeping quietly on the nearby couch, not thinking about anything. Definitely not thinking about anything. He heard Andy attempt to talk to him again, but he didn’t think about that, either. He heard Andy excuse himself for a minute to get food from upstairs, but he didn’t think about it.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

He thought about that.

He allowed himself to breathe slightly, smelling something like sulfur, iron, and sweat. Patrick. He finally allowed himself to move, lowering his wing to the vision of the man next to him, clearly exhausted, but sitting upright.

“You should be sleeping.”

Patrick furrowed his brows. “Fuck you, I’m hungry.” He spoke slowly, almost slurring his words. He was barely awake. He leaned against Pete, though he couldn’t tell if he just needed something to lean on or if he really just wanted to be close to his best friend. Maybe both.

Pete shook his head, but didn’t have the heart to move Patrick off of his wing-covered shoulder. “Patrick, Andy wants me to stay away from you.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you thirsty right now?”

“Well-- no, but-”

“Then fuck him.”

Pete drew a full breath in, just to sigh it all back out. “Sit up for a second, okay?”

Patrick did as asked, shooting him exhausted daggers for making him move. But Pete just moved his wing out of the way and pulled Patrick back onto him.

“Don’t glare at me, I’m just trying to help.” He set his wing on his friend, like a blanket. “Just get comfortable.”

They sat comfortably for a minute before Patrick mumbled again against him. “Can you at least breathe because not hearing anything is freaking me out.”

Pete raised his eyebrows. Sometimes he forgot his heart didn’t beat. He willed himself to start breathing again, getting back into a slow rhythm. “You really should just sleep, Patrick. You don’t have the energy to eat.”

Patrick spoke sideways into Pete’s bare chest. “No fucking way, maybe because I need food to have energy.” Sarcastic, even when exhausted.

It wasn’t long before Pete heard Andy come back down the stairs. He closed his eyes and waited for it.

“Pete, I thought I made it clear-”

“I made him do it, Andy.” Patrick spoke up.

Andy pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a harder job than he thought. “Patrick, it’s not safe, and you should be sleeping.”

“Petey’s not thirsty, are ya Pete?” Patrick asked, his eyes closed still.

 _Petey? Seriously?_  “Well, no.” He saw Andy’s eyebrows rise.

“It’s been all day, how are you..?”

Pete shook his head. “I haven’t been thirsty since...” He looked down at Patrick, who was still somehow not slipping out of consciousness. He must have been really hungry. “Andy, do you have anything for Patrick to eat?” Pete allowed concern to creep into his voice.

Andy looked back to Patrick. “You’re hungry?” Patrick just nodded, and Andy turned his attention back to Pete. “We’ll talk about this later. I’ll be right back.” And Andy went back upstairs to make something for Patrick.

After Patrick had eaten he had passed out swiftly, still leaning into Pete. Pete didn't mind, but Andy was soon sitting across from him on the opposite couch.

"I'm not comfortable with this, Pete." He shook his head. "How long has it been since you drank last?"

Pete glanced up at the clock. "Almost twenty hours."

Andy raised his eyebrows, unsure if he should feel impressed or concerned.

"I'm not thirsty, man. It's weird." He shifted, protectively covering Patrick with his wing. Honestly, he was a bit concerned. Patrick still smelled mainly of himself, Pete noticed. The smell of sulfur was still detectable, but nowhere near as overpowering as it had been. He felt, though, that he might be able to hide his wings again, but he had grown almost attached to them throughout the day. And they really liked Patrick.

"You better promise me, Pete, that you'll remove yourself as soon as you start getting thirsty." Andy menaced.

Pete nodded, gulping.

Pete sat there throughout the night, through Andy excusing himself to bed, allowing Patrick to slip from his chest to his lap. He rested a hand on his best friend's shoulder, noticing the semi-circle scar that had previously shown was now all but gone. He continued to breathe, but soon he felt his eyelids get heavy. He reached gently for a small couch pillow and situated it in a comfortable position behind his head before passing out himself.

Pete dreamt. He dreamt fairly frequently, when he actually got sleep, anyway, and about thirty percent of the time he had nightmares. But that night, he dreamt of memories. Auras, he remembered. He used to pay more attention to them. In person, everyone had an aura. He hadn't understood immediately what each color meant, but most people, he noticed, were either yellow or blueish. Different forms of happy or sad. He saw all kinds of colors over the years, and slowly his intuition told him what they meant. But Patrick's changed when the demon possessed him. Patrick's turned black. He'd never seen black, that he could remember. His brain stirred, images of auras swirling through his thoughts. It settled on one, a specific one. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew who it belonged to. Pete woke up suddenly, his senses snapping to reality. His dream had to mean something.

White.

Dallon Weekes's had been white.


	8. Chapter 8

Dallon laid sleepless on his back in Brendon's guest room. After their argument, Brendon tried his best to warm back up to him, and Dallon reciprocated likewise, but he could tell that they weren't quite okay. They had eaten in relative silence, Dallon mainly speaking to Sarah and answering questions about how Breezy and his children were doing. He heard his phone go off, the light from the screen brightening up the whole room and being generally unpleasant. He reached blindly and brought the phone closer, looking at the clock. _Four am? Who-_ he looked at the caller ID. _Pete?_

He slid the button over to answer the phone, bringing it tiredly up to his ear. "Pete, it's four in the morning-"

"Shit, sorry, I didn't look at the time. I can call back later," Pete apologized.

"No, it's alright, I wasn't asleep anyway."

"Dallon, this is pretty heavy stuff."

Dallon scrunched his brows together. What was Pete alluding to? "Stuff? I'm already awake, lay it on me."

Dallon heard Pete hesitate. "Dal," pause. "Why is your aura white?"

Dallon was floored. Pete knew? How did Pete know? "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Pete sighed. "I can see your aura, Dallon, it's white. I've never seen a white aura anywhere else."

Dallon shifted uncomfortably. "Pete, I-"

"Look, we're dealing with a lot of fucking problems up here. If you can help, I need to find out." Pete paused before adding, "no one else can see it. Just me."

"How can you see it?"

"So you admit it's white!"

"Pete. How can you see it." Dallon demanded. Clearly Pete was no demon, if he didn't already know what he was. Pete never looked any different.

"Oh, fuck, sorry, I'm used to it being common knowledge. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm a vampire."

Dallon sat in a stunned silence.

"...Dallon?"

How did he respond? Vampires were on the dark end of the spectrum and Pete's been one for who-knows-how-long and _Dallon didn't know?_

"Dal, I- shit, I'm sorry, I should- um-"

"How?"

"H..how?"

"How and when, and then _maybe_ I'll answer your question." So much for getting any sleep that night.

"Long story short, I was bitten like ten years ago. I managed to avoid drinking blood for a long time, until a few years ago, like three, when my body grew too resistant to our replacement. I've been drinking donated shit ever since. I'm not a bad guy, Dal." He paused for a moment. "We really fucking need help. I'm the least of our worries."

Dallon exhaled. He believed Pete, but.. Wow. If he was the least of their worries, then something was seriously going down in Chicago.

"What are you dealing with there?"

"No way, not until you tell me. Dallon. Please."

Dallon sat up. It was one thing for Brendon to find out, it was another to willingly tell someone. "Pete, I.. Just please, give me a good reason. This is not something I can just come out and say."

There was silence for a minute on the other end of the line. "Patrick's, uh, Patrick's aura is black."

Dallon froze. That was a pretty good reason.

"It didn't always used to be. It-it used to be normal. Like, human normal. But we went through some shit about a month ago and-and they fucked up Patrick and he's fucking _suffering_ Dallon. He's, shit, he's been sleeping for the past two days, and I'm so fucking thirsty I can't be near him. That's why I called now. By morning Andy's going to restrain me so I don't hurt anyone, so I don't go on a bloodthirsty fucking rampage. We need help. I thought, I thought maybe you would be able to. I-I had a dream, I remembered your aura, I figured it was significant." Pete rambled.

Dallon was silent for a minute, taking it all in.

"Dallon?"

"I'm here, I'm just.." He hesitated. "I can help, Pete. I can help. Probably." He bit his lip. "I'm an angel."

Silence.

"Pete?"

"Fucking,"

Dallon shifted again.

"Really? Like, angel angel?"

Dallon furrowed his brows. "Is there another kind?"

"Guess not." Pause. "Patrick's possessed."

Dallon let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I mean, not good, but better than the alternative I was considering."

"Which was?"

"That he _was_ a demon."

"Oh." Another pause. "I'm guessing that would be worse."

"Well, no. No. It would still be Patrick. But it would be irreversible."

"So this is, then."

Dallon thought for a moment. There were a lot of ways he could help. Obviously he would want the best case scenario, so exorcism was off the table. "How powerful is this demon?" He asked. That could change things.

"I'm not sure where the baseline is drawn. He's the only demon I've ever seen."

"Does he have a name?"

"Not that I've heard."

Dallon sighed for the umpteenth time in the past fifteen minutes or so. "Look, Pete, hold tight as long as you can. I'll find a reason to get us out there as soon as I can."

"Wait, 'us'?"

"I'm visiting with Brendon and we're all going to be working on music. Besides, I think Brendon might be able to help too."

He heard Pete sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll let Andy know. We'll do our best until then. Sorry I called so late. You should get your rest."

Dallon nodded, then remembered this was a phone call. "Uh, yeah, you too. Stay safe. Please."

"Night."

Dallon heard Pete hang up and he put his phone back down, mind swirling with thoughts and feelings and ideas about how to deal with this situation on top of his and Brendon's own. At some point around five am, he passed out at last.

::::

 

It was an awkward morning. Brendon had woken up well before Dallon and made breakfast for them, but when Dallon grabbed his food and sat down to eat, Brendon was particularly silent. He sat towards the front of his seat, leaning his shoulders against the back of his chair, hardly touching his food.

“Thank you,” Dallon attempted to get him to say something, anything.

Brendon just nodded slightly, keeping his eyes forward.

“Brendon, we need to talk.” Dallon stated, Brendon looking over at him and raising an eyebrow in question. “I got a phone call from Pete last night.”

That seemed to work. “Wentz?”

Dallon nodded. “Yeah, the guys need us there.”

“Some kind of collaborative project?” Brendon asked, taking another bite of his pancakes.

“Actually, no. They’re having a bit of a problem.” Dallon’s face scrunched. He wasn’t sure how exactly to bring this up, but he knew Sarah had already left and Kenny and Spencer weren’t going to be there until later in the day. So at least they had time and privacy.

“Problem? Like, a music problem?”

Dallon let out a sigh and nervously scratched at his unshaven chin. “A, uh, demon problem, sounds like.”

Brendon’s brows furrowed in frustration. “What, like the one you had here before the other night? Afraid someone’s gonna fuck up? End up like me?” Honestly, the fuck did Dallon think he was talking to?

The angel’s brows raised. “No, no no no no!” Crap, that is not what he meant. “Patrick’s possessed, Brendon. It sounds bad. From what I was able to gather, it doesn’t sound like a lesser demon’s responsible.”

 _Lesser demon._ Brendon didn’t exactly appreciate the reminder that he wasn’t the most powerful thing around. “And Pete just happened to tell the one person who might be able to help? I thought you didn’t tell anyone, Dal?” Brendon accused.

Should he just tell him about Pete? That felt like a violation of privacy. He couldn’t just lie, either. “He had no idea, honestly. He was just looking for help.” _Please be a good enough answer._

“But you did tell him, then.” Brendon asked, and Dallon nodded.

“They need our help, Bren.”

Brendon pointed his fork (complete with pancake piece) at the winged wonder. “No, they need _your_ help, holy boy.” He put the fork in his mouth and started working on picking up another bite.

“Brendon.” Dallon said forcefully, trying to get him to be serious. “You need to help too, man.”

“Fucking hell, I do. I don’t have to do shit.”

Dallon set his utensils down. “Have a heart, will you? Soulless or no, I’m sure you don’t want all of Fall Out Boy killed at the hands of a demon higher in rank than yourself.”

Brendon practically slammed his own fork down. “And what the hell am I supposed to do, pretty bird? This is a demon far my superior, far more powerful, and he sure as hell isn’t going to be weak to my abilities.”

Dallon just looked at him for a long moment, breathing hard through his nose. “Just come with me. Everyone can. We need to write music anyway, right? Consider it a vacation. One way or the other, I’m leaving. I’d..” Dallon’s mouth twitched. Technically, it was against the general guidelines, working with a demon. It wasn’t illegal, it just wasn’t done. He took a deep breath, pushing away his instincts. “I’d much prefer it if you came with me and helped.” He picked up his fork again and worked at finishing his pancakes, focusing a bit too much on how the butter swirled in the syrup.

Brendon sighed. Why the fuck was this angel asking him for help? Their kinds don’t work together. Everyone and their brother knows that. They were supposed to be enemies, not band mates. At each other’s throats, not sitting and eating a lovely brunch together. _And yet I made the fuckin’ pancakes._ He put his head in his hands, trying to figure out just what they _were_. Were they still friends? Is that what this was? Brendon groaned. “Uuugh, okay. Okay, I’ll go. We’ll go. I’ll help. Alright?”

Dallon looked up at the demon seated at the other end of the table. He couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. “Brendon, thank you.”

Brendon just waved it off. “But we still have to get Spence and Kenny to agree, alright?”

“Of course, of course. But we can’t tell them about Patrick or anything, okay? And definitely not about me. The fewer people that know about me the better.”

“What, so we just frame it as a creative get-away or something?”

Dallon nodded.

“Sure, fine. But I’m telling them about myself, man. They deserve to know.”

Dallon furrowed his brows. Brendon was really not good at being a bad guy. Not that he was complaining. “Alright, sure.” He paused. “And, uh, thank you. For the pancakes. They were really good.”

 

::::

 

Later in the day, Kenny and Spencer showed up at Brendon's and after greeting each other they all sat in Brendon's living room.

"So what's the plan, then?" Spencer asked. "Want to just jump right into it?"

"Actually," Dallon spoke up, looking to Brendon. "Brendon and I thought we could use a vacation, like, as a band. Go somewhere else for once. Look for inspiration somewhere new."

Kenny raised his eyebrows at the suggestion of vacation. "Anywhere in mind?"

Brendon shrugged. "Chicago?"

Spencer squinted at Brendon. "This isn't an attempt to surprise us with a Fall Out Boy collaboration, is it? Because if it is, I'm very disappointed in how see through you are."

Brendon just shook his head. "Dallon has some business there, I just thought we should all go so we can still get work done. Enjoy the sights. Eat cool food." He grinned stupidly at them.

"What's your biz, Dallon?" Kenny asked him.

Dallon thought it best to just shrug and give half truths. "Uh, sick family member. It's kind of personal, so.." He did his best to play it off as discomfort. He could consider Patrick family, right? They'd known each other long enough. Thankfully, Kenny just nodded, and Dallon was thankful for how nice his friends were.

"I'm down if Spence is." Kenny smiled. Spencer nodded.

"I like Chicago. I say we go."

"Great!" Brendon beamed. "I have other news now for you, you guys are never gonna believe this!"

Dallon shook his head as Brendon excitedly started to explain what had happened to him to the two guys.

 

Brendon managed to convince Kenny, but Spencer wasn’t having any of it. He wanted cold hard proof that Brendon was a demon.

“Yeah? You sure proof is what you want?” Brendon smirked. Dallon hung his head and exhaled. It’s never a good idea to challenge a demon, and he could just tell what Brendon was thinking.

“Proof, Brendon.” Spencer nodded.

“Sweet, fine, check it, man.” Brendon beamed as he stood, deciding to forgo the theatrics, should Dallon try to stop him. Spencer watched as a thick purple smog erupted from Brendon’s feet and traveled quickly all the way up his being, obscuring him from sight. All at once, the shape of the smoke changed, taking Brendon’s body with it, and headed straight for his face.

Kenny watched in horror as it all happened, okay, maybe he wasn’t as convinced as he thought he had been. Very quickly, Brendon was gone, and Spencer’s eyes opened, and he could have sworn that for just a moment, his eyes flashed gold.

“Fuck yeah!” yelled Spencer. “How’s that for proof?”

Kenny just stared in confusion. Dallon inhaled and then sighed. “Okay, Brendon, he gets it. Don’t torture your friend.”

“Oh fuck you, he didn’t believe me, so I’m gonna have some fun.”

Honestly, Kenny didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Spencer turned to him and saw his expression. “Spence..?”

“Yeah?” He grinned at him uncharacteristically. Kenny’s brow only got higher. “I’m just messin’, Kenny, it’s me-Brendon!”

Silence. Spencer’s face fell as he realized Kenny was still really lost.

“I possessed him, man.” he said nonchalantly.

Kenny’s other eyebrow slowly raised to meet the other. “Oh. _Oooohh._ You can do that? You- You’re in his body?” he questioned the-man-who-was-not-Spencer.

Brendon grinned. “Sure! He’s gonna be so fucking pissed when I get out, though.”

“So he’s okay? Does he know?” Kenny didn’t want a reason to worry.

Brendon nodded, already missing his own body anyway. “He feels violated,” he laughed.

“Brendon, come on, that’s enough.” Dallon said, trying not to sound too controlling around Kenny and Spencer. He had to keep him in line, and he had to act like this was new and interesting.

“Alright, yeesh, killjoy.” Brendon glared at him before closing his eyes and bringing himself back out to reality, his body shaping itself and the smoke disappearing. His eyes glowed gold again briefly as he glared at Dallon a second time. “Happy?” Dallon nodded and mouthed a thank you.

There was silence for a minute as Spencer regained his footing. “What the fuck, Brendon?”

“You wanted proof, so that was the best thing I can think of.”

Spencer looked at Kenny like _can you believe this guy?_ Kenny looked back apologetically. “Brendon, you were _in my body._ ”

“What, like I’ve never seen your dick before? Don’t be such an asshole, I was just giving you what you asked for.”

“That’s twisted.”

“ _Demon._ ” he reminded them, grinning. “Come on, man, I was gentle on you.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he supposed he was right.

“Hey,” Dallon started. “Come on guys, I have to be in Chicago. Let’s get going.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Patrick woke up with a bad headache on the bed in the guest room. He was tired, really tired, but his body demanded he get up. He looked solemnly to the empty bed on the other end of the room. Pete should be sleeping there, honestly. Andy was being way too harsh on him, locking him up like that, not even allowing Patrick in the basement. He left the room, stomach begging for food, and shuffled groggily to the refrigerator, opening it and grabbing some yogurt he had asked Joe to stock for him. The house was awfully quiet. Where was Andy? He looked at the clock. _Oh. It’s six in the morning._ He finished eating, leaving the cup and spoon on the table, feeling a bit better, more awake. He sighed and thought about what to do. Andy didn’t wake up for another couple hours, usually. His eyes fell on the basement door. He glanced over to Andy’s hallway, his door was shut. If he was quick and quiet, he wouldn’t know. He went to the basement door, slowly turning the handle, praying desperately it wouldn’t squeak, and snuck downstairs, shutting the door silently behind him. The basement was soundproofed, so at least he had that. He went down the stairs, focusing on each step, making sure not to fall with all the lights out.

“...Patrick?” he heard Pete breathe out. Fuck, he sounded awful. “Please tell me it’s you, Pat.”

“Yeah, Pete, it’s me.”

He thought he heard a sigh. “Oh thank God.” Patrick turned to get to the light switch, flicking the lights on, and turned back to Pete, who was slumped tiredly against the wall, manacled arms held up slightly. He didn’t open his eyes. “You smell just like your fucking demon.”

“Sorry, Pete.” Patrick sat on the couch furthest from his friend.

“Good choice, don’t get near me. I’m fucking starving.” Pete warned, hearing the squeak of the old springs as Patrick sat. If Patrick got close enough for him to smell his blood, he just might lose his mind. “I thought Andy wasn’t going to let you down here..?” He asked, his throat sounding dry as a bone.

“It’s six in the morning. He’s asleep.”

“Fuck, Patrick-”

“You’re my best friend, I’m not just going to ignore you and let you suffer alone.”

“Well, you should.”

Patrick grimaced at him. “Wasn’t Andy supposed to give you a packet yesterday?”

“I told him to hold off for another day.” Pete admitted. “The sooner I get over this the better, you know that.”

“What the fuck, Pete, don’t do this to yourself. Just, let Andy put you on the schedule. I’ll get you a packet or something, you look like death.”

Pete just let out a dry laugh. “Well, I am kind of dead. It’s to be expected, right?” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.” Patrick sighed. “Pete, just let me get you something to drink, please.”

“You can’t, Andy has the only key.”

“He locked it?”

Pete furrowed his brows. “Yeah? So I can’t get into it.” He paused. “And so you can’t either.” Pete sighed, admittedly surprised at how easy it was to talk to Patrick when he couldn’t see him, despite how absolutely fucking thirsty he was. Last night, though, things would have been different. He was bloodthirsty and fueled by his feverish need. Now he was just tired and freezing cold, but every now and again his body betrayed him and fought at the chains, and his wrists were getting really rather purple. Again his body pulled against the tether, his teeth gritting and the chains rattling.

Patrick watched as Pete’s arms pulled, but his expression looked more like he was trying to fight back. “Fuck, Pete, I’m going to make Andy get you something soon.”

Pete felt his arms go limp again, returned to his control. “Don’t, please. Just turn the lights off and go. I don’t need you getting in trouble. He’ll come down when he wakes up.”

Patrick closed his eyes and sighed for a moment before standing. Pete was right. Again. He was right pretty often. “Alright, fine, okay.” He walked over to the lightswitch. “You win, okay? I’m going back upstairs. But I’ll be back later, man.” He flicked the lights off and groped for the staircase railing.

“Patrick?”

“Yes, Pete?”

“Before- Before you go, uh, I forgot to ask.. how you were.. sorry.”

Patrick laughed just a little. “I’m feeling okay. I’m going to go lay down some more.”

“Okay. We’ll solve this.” Pete said optimistically. “We will.”

“See you later.”

Patrick snuck back up the stairs and took care of his yogurt mess before going back to his room and trying to sleep for at least a couple more hours. He liked sleeping. His problem didn’t exist when he was sleeping, unless he dreamed. But that hadn’t happened in a few days.

At around eight in the morning, Andy finally awoke. His first thing was to go check on Patrick, who seemed to be soundly asleep where he had been when he'd last seen him. Andy gave a sigh, but didn't want to wake his friend if he still needed the rest. He's been out of commission for a while now, it felt a lot longer than usual. He was again reminded that this whole charm thing wasn't a permanent fix. They had to find a real solution. Something that would last. With another sigh, he quietly shut the door and went to go check on Pete next, but not before going to grab one of the packets of blood for him. He knew that Pete was insistent on not drinking until he was settled down entirely, but he didn't want to torture him. It's been nearly five days now since he last drank. He really should have something. Even though he's been trying to wean the vampire off of the copious amounts, he couldn't justify starving him. He couldn't see why Pete would refuse it either. That's a long time to go without sustenance.

Andy made his way downstairs, flicking on the light to see that Pete was still looking more than a little exhausted and hurt. "How're you holding up?"

Pete didn't answer him aside from his wrists trying to break out of the bonds at the faint smell of the blood contained within the bag.

"Pete, you really should drink something. You can't go starving yourself." Andy said, keeping his distance from Pete just in case he decided to lash out.

"I already said that I don't want to." Despite Pete's words, he struggled against the restraints again, the faint smell of the blood being so hard to resist. "G-get that away."

Andy frowned at him and made a small rip in the top of the bag before quickly placing it in front of him and backing away before he could let his instincts take over. "You need to drink."

At the bag being open and exposed like that right in front of him, he opened his eyes tiredly and looked at it, every fiber of his being telling him to devour it. It was nothing compared to Patrick, but his body wanted the blood so badly that he fought at the restraints again. "N-no, Andy, fuck, get that away from me."

"Pete you don't need to keep punishing yourself over this."

Pete scowled at him, taking a lot more effort than it should have to close his eyes and look away from the packet of blood that lay before him, trying to think of literally anything else but that.

At Pete's insistent refusal, Andy gave a sigh and grabbed the packet once again. "Fine." If Pete wanted to keep beating himself up about the whole Patrick thing then that was his problem. Sooner or later he'll get over it and get back into his usual drinking routine and that'll be that.

Pete was thankful for the temptation being taken away. He was sure he wouldn't have been able to last much longer if Andy hadn't given in like that.

Andy went to say something but was cut off by hearing the basement door open. He thought it was Patrick at first, but was relieved to learn it was just Joe, who let himself into the house.

"How's it going?" Joe asked. After looking at the situation though, he managed to piece it together without an answer. "We almost have all the ingredients for the not-blood thing, man. Give us like another day and it should be all good."

Pete sighed quietly, glad to hear that. Then they'd see if it would still hold over his thirst like it used to years back. Hopefully it did something so he wouldn't have to take donations or end up attacking Patrick again. He couldn't risk hurting his best friend once again. Patrick should know to stay away from him, so why was he so intent on trying to talk to him when he was like this?

"Give a call if you want to have something to drink." Andy said, still wishing he would drink what was already here. He was torturing himself.

Pete nodded tiredly, pulling at the restraints unwillingly once again.

With that, Andy and Joe left Pete in the basement, lights off once again.

"Man, you should really just be force feeding him at this point." Joe said, looking to the basement door with a frown.

Andy shook his head. "It's his own choice, I'm not going to make him do it if he doesn't want to." Even though it's probably better to force him to drink something, Pete can make his own decisions. He'll crack sooner or later.

Roughly an hour later, Andy heard a knock at his door. He raised an eyebrow at Joe, wondering if he ordered pizza or something, who just shook his head in response. Andy got up to go answer the door, not expecting more company than the usual ones, who were all already here.

Opening the door revealed none other than Brendon Urie and Dallon Weekes. Andy raised a questioning eyebrow once again before giving them a smile. "Hey, this is a surprise."

"Ah, yeah, did Pete not tell you we were stopping by?" Dallon asked as Andy stepped aside to let his two friends inside.

"Pete? No, he never said." Andy frowned. "Did he call?"

Dallon nodded as they stepped inside, Joe going to greet them as well.

"What're you guys doing here?"

"Pete called them." Andy said, looking at Joe then back to the others.

"He called _Dallon_." Brendon corrected, still coming off as being in a less than great mood. "I'm just along for the ride."

"He, uh, mentioned that something was up with Patrick, and he thought I-" he paused and corrected himself, not giving in to Brendon's foul mood, " _we_ could help."

"He did what?" Joe was confused. Why would Pete tell them about the issue? And how would they be able to help him?

Andy seemed to be thinking the same thing, and Dallon could see their confusion and apprehension about knowing the situation.

"He thinks we can help because, uh.." Dallon hesitated, still disliking the whole thing about telling people what he really was. He'd kept it to himself for so long that telling four people within the past week felt off. He really felt uncomfortable about it honestly. He knew he could trust them but-

"Dallon's a fuckin' angel, okay?" Brendon cut in, seeing Dallon's hesitation.

"A what?" Andy looked at Dallon in disbelief, who was basically shooting daggers at Brendon.

He knew he had to tell them sooner or later, but that should have been up to himself to let them know. Dallon sighed before looking back to the other two. "An angel." He repeated, still thinking it sounded strange coming from his mouth, or anyone's mouth, really.

"And Pete knew this?" Joe asked, in just about as much disbelief as Andy was. What were the chances that it would be true? Not high. It just didn't make sense as to how it would be possible.

Brendon rolled his eyes, then looking at Dallon once again. "Show 'em proof, dude."

Dallon looked at the demon before sighing once again and focusing his attention back on Andy and Joe. "Alright, I guess." Within a few seconds, the wings that were only faintly visible to Brendon became fully noticeable to not only him, but to Joe and Andy. Dallon stretched out his wings a bit, not having used them since he'd shown them to Brendon for the first time.

The large white wings definitely seemed to be enough proof to them, as Andy stood there rather speechless.

"Fuckin' sweet." Joe said, finding himself grinning at the situation. How cool was that? One of his friends has been an angel, that's so fuckin' amazing.

"Okay, so you aren't lying about that." Andy said, still trying to take it all in. "But how does being an angel help the situation?"

Dallon frowned and shook his head. "Pete seemed certain I could do something." He glanced around. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Chillin' in the basement." Joe said nonchalantly.

"Can we go talk with him?" Dallon remembered Pete had said something about being bloodthirsty, and possibly being restrained. He assumed that meant being left in the basement if he wasn't here with the others.

Andy seemed hesitant, unsure about letting others be around Pete. "He isn't exactly... in a position to be talking to people."

That confirmed Dallon's suspicions.

"Why the hell not?" Brendon frowned, looking at Dallon. "If he's just in the basement-"

"Please, just let us talk to him." Dallon said, cutting Brendon off.

"Fine, just make sure you keep your distance from him." Andy sighed, giving in. "We'll go check in with Patrick and let him know you're here to try and help."

Dallon nodded before Brendon could say anything else, and Joe escorted them to the basement door. "Just be careful, man. He's restrained for a reason." He reminded them as he opened the door to let them through before going to join Andy to see Patrick.

Pete heard the door open then close, and suddenly his nose was filled with a stench much more foul than he was used to smelling from Patrick. He pulled at the restraints as he heard the footsteps walking down, fearing that maybe the demon had broken through Patrick again. It smelled different than what he was used to smelling from Patrick, but there was no mistaking that it was still coming from a demon.

"Pete?" Dallon called out, hearing the struggles against the restraints. He felt around for the light switch, flicking it on once he had.

The light caused Pete to wince before he recognized Dallon's voice. He opened his eyes a bit, the sudden light still making it hard to see.

Dallon still had that white aura around him, so it seemed that he was telling the truth about being an angel. But then why the hell did he smell a demon? Unless he was somehow an angel-demon hybrid which sounded seriously untrue-

"Why the hell are you bound up like that?"

At hearing the other voice, he recognized it as Brendon. So if it wasn't Dallon that the smell was coming from, and Brendon was the only other person here.. He opened his eyes a bit more, looking at Brendon.

Black.

His aura was black.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood and violence. <3 Thanks for the feedback, friends! Let us know what you think! We love to hear your thoughts.

" _Fuck_ , Brendon.." He wasn't sure how to take this. Brendon was a demon. He was a _fucking demon._ But then why was Dallon hanging around with him? "Keep away." Pete said, trying not to gag at the overpowering scent of sulfur in the air. Why did Dallon say that he thought Brendon could help? How would a _demon_ be able to help with a demon situation?

"What the fuck, man?" Brendon couldn't help but feel rather offended at that. Why'd Dallon even bring him along if Pete didn't want to talk to him for whatever fucking reason? What was the point of dragging everyone here to Chicago if he only needed The Holy One's help?

"You reek, man." Pete managed to say, pulling at the restraints again. He thought that Patrick's demon scent was bad, but he was more like a spring meadow in comparison to this.

Dallon cut in, seeing that both were unhappy with what was happening. "So, uh, Brendon, why don't you share what happened with you?"

"Fuck no. If he doesn't want me around then I'm not staying." Brendon turned to leave, deciding he'd just head back to the hotel with Kenny and Spence and wait for Dallon to play superhero here with the others.

"Brendon..." Dallon sighed, grabbing the demon's shirt collar to stop him from walking off. He looked back to Pete apologetically.

Brendon gave him a look before looking to Pete too, although clearly still moody.

"I really don't mean to sound rude," Pete started, gritting his teeth, "but how is bringing a demon here going to help with Patrick?"

"That's what I was saying-" Brendon stopped himself. "Wait, how do you know?" How did Pete know he was a demon? His horns weren't visible, were they?

"Vampire." Pete answered simply, not having much energy to elaborate further. Pete wasn't really too secretive of what he was any longer. A decade of this crap made him care less about who knew what he was. It was better to get it out of the way anyway.

Brendon raised a quizzical eyebrow, then understanding what he'd meant. Pete was a vampire? So, if he was being restrained like this..-

"Hey, when was the last time you drank?" Dallon asked, getting the feeling that something was off on Pete's end.

Pete shook his head. "That isn't important. I need your help with Patrick." He didn't want this conversation to be about him and how he's been refusing to drink. He wanted Patrick to be safe before he even thought about having blood again.

"Right." Although Dallon was worried about Pete, he respected his choice to keep his focus on the Patrick issue. He sighed, stress starting to pile up on him, and sat on the couch nearest Pete.

“Not a good idea,” Pete growled instinctively, but Dallon just shook his head.

“You won’t get close enough. But Brendon,” Dallon redirected. “You actually should probably stay away.”

Brendon scowled but obeyed out of agreement. Pete was a fucking vampire, and he didn’t really feel like crossing that rift between their kinds. Silently he hoped his scent wafted over to Pete more, because fuck vampires that’s why. Their kind thought they were so fucking great, always holing up in their little nests or what-the-fuck-ever and ‘silently’ controlling small towns. Yeah, he still liked Pete as a person or something, but right now he was just short of animalistic. Brendon was pretty sure that any living human within a meter radius of batboy would meet their untimely end.

Pete didn’t bother with breathing, but the sulfuric stench coming off of Brendon burned in his nose all the same, threatening to drive him mad with rage. His focus shifted to Dallon, however, as he saw, or more appropriately, felt, Dallon’s aura grow and expand into his personal space. After a few moments, his body stopped struggling against the restraints, his muscles really relaxing for the first time in almost a solid day. He looked to him, doing his best to relay a breathless thank you. Dallon simply nodded. Pete closed his eyes for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.

An uncomfortable silence spread through the room, being broken only by a heavy sigh from the chained vampire. “Can you help him?” he asked weakly.

“I think so.” Dallon replied simply.

“And how is the demon going to help?” Pete spat in Brendon’s direction.

 _Yeah fuck you too, buddy._ Brendon thought to himself.

Dallon half frowned. “In any way he can.” He paused. “It’s not like he plays well with other demons, Pete. They all hate each other.”

“Well this demon is powerful as fuck, okay? How do I know it doesn’t have some kind of control over this asshole over here or something?”

“Hey,” Brendon glared at Pete. He really shouldn’t be talking shit, chained up like that. “I’m my own man, fuck those high demons or whatever the fuck they call themselves.” He added bitterly under his breath, “I’ll just get high my own way.”

“When did this happen, anyway, man? You weren’t a fucking monster last time I saw you.” Pete grimaced.

“Like a week ago or some shit? I don’t know. What does it fucking matter? Not about to change anytime soon. When did _this_ happen, Pete? How long you been a bloodsucking waste of magic?” Brendon spat back.

“Ten years.” Pete answered flatly, his voice losing the edge it had. “Ten goddamn years, Brendon. Ten _fucking_ years, a whole fucking _decade_ of this shit and a whole fucking _eternity_ to come, so lay off, okay?”

Dallon glared at Brendon, practically daring him to pursue whatever argument he thought he had.

Pete sighed again. “I’m just really tired, you guys. We’re all tired. Patrick’s been sleeping almost non-stop for the last five days. Andy and Joe have been scrambling to figure something out so we don’t _die_ from this thing. It literally wants to _kill_ us, Dallon, all of us. And it already almost did, once. And even when Patrick’s himself all I can see are those fucking yellow eyes and that black fucking aura and-”

There was a loud crash from the floor above, and what sounded vaguely like shouting. Brendon’s eyes went wide as he felt the shift in the air, and he bolted up the stairs, stopping at the basement door and locking it from inside. “Fuck, guys, that’s some fucking demon you’ve got there.”

Pete inhaled sharply. “Shit. No. No, no no no no. Fuck. Dallon, we need to get him down here. He needs to get tied up.” Pete rushed.

Dallon was in a mild panic, scrambling for answers. “But there’s only one set of restraints, and I can’t let you go.”

Pete gulped. “Get Brendon to unlock the door and get down here.”

“But-”

“Just, trust me. Dallon.” Pete begged. It had been five days. Five Fucking Days since the last incident, that was longer than the last two times, and Patrick had been _resting_ and _rejuvenating_ this whole damn time while Pete had been _withering away_. And fuck if Pete didn’t _just now_ realize that was that demon’s plan the whole fucking time. Dallon yelled to Brendon who did what he was asked, running down and over to Pete as fast-as-fucking-possible. It wasn’t long before the door would slam open, so Pete made good use of his time. “You need to let me, go, Dallon. And I need to drink from Brendon.”

“What?” Brendon snapped at him. “Fuck no.”

“Do you want to _die_? This _motherfucking thing_ is going to come down here and he has been _biding his time_ and recharging his _mother fucking magic_ for _five goddamn days_ , Brendon. You’re not going to be strong enough and on top of it all, I’m not going to put you in harm’s way.”

“Oh, so sucking me dry isn’t putting me in harms way?”

Pete just glared at him. “You’ll survive. If I can’t get this motherfucker strapped up we’re all dead.”

Brendon looked to Dallon for some support, but honestly, Dallon had to agree with Pete. Whoever got this demon in Patrick knew exactly what they were calling on, he could feel the magic in the air turning more and more sour. “Pete,” Dallon gulped. “Where are the keys?”

Pete’s eyes shot to the wall behind Brendon, and Dallon ran to get them and started to unlock Pete’s wrist restraints.

“What the fuck, Dal? You’re going along with it!?” Brendon panicked.

“We have to get this thing locked up, Brendon, no matter the cost.” Dallon said as he released the second restraint, holding Pete back by force as his instincts started to kick in from the freedom.

Brendon’s mind shot through all possibilities, and _damn_ if this fucking angel weren’t right. This was definitely a higher demon, and he had no chance in taking him out, and there was no way he could see Dallon winning any kind of fight, _ever_. Still, this was a _fucking vampire_ , of all shitty creatures to be, in front of him. This shit was gonna fucking hurt like _hell_. But faced with the options of pain or death, the answer seemed pretty damn clear. He wasn’t exactly ready to get sent to permanent fire and brimstone just yet. “Fine,” he said shakily. “Let him go.”

As Dallon released Pete, the basement door shot open and Andy and Joe were sent tumbling down the stairs, which, thankfully, were at least carpeted. As a snap decision, Dallon unfurled his wings and covered Pete and Brendon within their span.

 

**::::**

 

As soon as the shackles were removed, Pete’s mind started going feral, though for some reason he could barely process Dallon’s presence holding him back. All he knew was that there was blood in the room, and it definitely belonged to Brendon, and good God it smelled good right now. His thoughts went hazy and his ability to smell what Brendon _was_ was quickly overpowered by the smell of what Brendon _had._

“Let him go.” was all he heard before he felt the soft flesh of the demon’s neck cave beneath his fangs. There was no hesitation, no thought of right or wrong, just the fucking wonderful feeling of blood leaking, no, pouring out of the bite wound into his mouth. How long had it been since Pete shaved down his fangs? Almost ten days? _What a fucking difference_ , he thought as his senses started to return, draining Brendon as fast as possible, and with such ease. He felt his wings forcibly rip forth from his still-bare back, but he kept going, Brendon’s blood tasting so damn good, already starting to feel himself get drunk on the pure dark magic flowing from Brendon’s veins. It wasn’t until he forced himself to release the nearly passed-out demon that he realized three things:

One, Brendon somehow hadn’t screamed at all.

Two, Dallon had encased them both in his very large wings, presumably to protect them from

Three, Patrick.

Fuck.

As soon as he sealed and released Brendon and took notice of the situation, he shoved his way out of Dallon’s feathers, leaving the angel clutching the demon tightly, clamshelling him in his giant white wings. He found himself standing face to face with whoever this godawful creature was, who, for some reason, looked surprised to see him, almost... frightened? Almost. Pete hissed instinctively at the yellow-eyed demon, angry as fuck and seeking vengeance.

At almost the same time, they leapt at each other, slamming into each other, but Pete had the upper hand now. He swung punches left and right, desperately trying to beat him into submission without hurting Patrick too much. They toppled over each other, fighting for dominance, and with a solid right hook to his jaw, Pete thought he heard something in him fracture. He let out a cry, but refused to back down. His wings clung to his back, except to help him balance, but as he was held on his back, one of them shot out, flipping Pete over, landing him on Patrick, and he let a punch fly square into Patrick’s temple before slapping his hands over the demon’s ears, knocking him out of sorts long enough for Pete to drag him up and shove him against the wall, holding him there with all of his might as a bruised Joe managed to shackle the fucker’s right arm to the wall. Pete focused his strength on the left side, bringing the manacle down over the crook of Patrick’s elbow and clasping it tightly in place. Pete finally let himself relax, stepping back from the creature and spitting blood in his direction. Honestly, Pete couldn’t tell if it was his own or leftovers from Brendon. Not that it mattered. It was the principle of the thing.

The demon screamed at them, growled at them, roared at them with a voice unlike anything that could be coming from Patrick’s vocal chords. No one said anything. No one wanted to. Joe went to Andy, who was just starting to recover from being shoved down the stairs. Pete didn’t move, he merely stared straight into the eyes of the thing that was controlling his best friend, challenging him to try to break free. And oh, did it try. Pete soon felt the pain from his broken jaw scream to life, and he was vaguely aware of his own blood seeping into his mouth and of multiple bruises that were already starting to surface underneath a plethora of scrapes and wounds from being tumbled all around the rough ground of the basement. He didn’t move until he was being gently pushed out of the way of Andy, who was doing his best to rush to the cabinet where he kept his spell items, passing Dallon on the couch, still keeping the definitely passed-out Brendon tightly wrapped in a white feather cocoon. Pete fell back into the couch closer to the demon, exhausted and yet filled with so much adrenaline he couldn’t focus on any part of the charm ritual Andy and Joe had started. Pete finally let himself close his eyes, unable to hear anything other than the screams of pain coming from Patrick’s body, that were at first definitely not Patrick, but soon morphed into sounding very much like the weak, frail human being tortured beyond belief. He couldn’t look, could never watch the pain Patrick endured as he was brought back to control, back to reality. At some point, he simply passed out, full, angry, terrified, overwhelmed, miserable, in pain, and so fucking exhausted.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Brendon woke up in the arms of Dallon, slowly, and in a bad mood. "Dude... What the fuck you holding me for?" He asked groggily. He felt cold and weak, completely drained. He probably couldn't even summon hellfire if he tried. He was curled up in Dallon's lap, one of the angel's arms wrapped around his back. He looked down as Brendon spoke and shifted in his lap.

"You'd passed out, Brendon." he answered, his voice edging with concern. "It's been hours. I wasn't sure how badly Pete had drained you-"

"Thank you."

Dallon looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Weakly, Brendon reached and gave the winged wonder as tight a hug as he could manage. It took Dallon by surprise, but after a moment's hesitation, he hugged him back.

"I know what you did for me. Shielding me. Thank you." Brendon said as he released him and scooted to his side. He leaned weakly against the angel.

"If he had sensed you you'd be dead," Dallon said matter-of-factly, leaning back into Brendon just slightly. "Demon or not, I wasn't about to let my best friend die."

There was a slight clink that drew Brendon's attention to the wall, where he found Patrick still chained up and passed out, but he had at least been given a chair for comfort. He pointed slightly in Patrick’s direction. “Dal, can you help me get closer to Patrick?”

The angel furrowed his brows, but agreed. “Sure, but why?” He asked as he got up and helped Brendon stand.

Damn, his legs felt like jelly, and he leaned heavily against Dallon for support. “I need to touch him.” They paused. Okay, that maybe wasn’t as helpful an explanation as he thought. “I need to..” he shuffled his feet with Dallon. “I need to find out who this fucker is..” He reached out and gently placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, who stirred only slightly at the contact. He drew back his hand almost immediately, leaning back against Dallon. “Fuck.”

“That was fast.” Dallon commented.

“Fuck, Dallon, fuck.” Brendon repeated. “I need to sit down.”

Dallon helped him back to the couch as Brendon practically collapsed from the effort, yelping softly in pain as his bitten neck came in contact with the corner of a pillow.

“You said you were going to make a Talisman for him, right? Or some shit?” Brendon questioned, groaning, to which Dallon nodded. “That’s not going to be enough.”

Dallon’s eyes widened, concern growing. “Not enough? What- who is it?”

“Mephistopheles, dude. Mephisto.”

Immediately Dallon felt his expression fall. No, a Talisman was definitely not going to be enough. Someone had summoned one of the _worst_ demons out there, and there was no way this person was still alive. The cost of Mephisto’s help was easily much more than one life. Still, the Talisman could bide their time until Dallon could figure out how to force him out of Patrick. He reached into his pocket and removed a small satchel, having made the Talisman the day after Pete called. He reached into the bag, which contained a number of significant items needed to charge the small wooden trinket with as much white magic as possible, and pulled it out. He held it in his hands and tested its readiness.

“Keep that damn thing away from me, man.” Brendon recoiled. Dallon was good, that thing was potent, and just being near it made him uncomfortable.

Dallon sighed and placed it back in the drawstring pouch, having deemed it not quite ready. “Sorry, don’t worry, I’m not about to make you go away or anything. Can’t torment you if you aren’t here,” Dallon joked. It got a small smirk out of Brendon, who had been looking far too morose since he’d woken up for Dallon’s comfort. They heard the upstairs door open and soon, Joe came sluggishly down the stairs, looking extremely beat up and disheartened.

“Hey, he’s awake,” he noticed, referring to Brendon. He quickly noticed the nasty bite mark on his neck. “Oh, shit, that’s-” he froze.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon started. “I’m not gonna turn into a fucking vampire.” He finished, stressing the “f” in “fucking” just slightly, leaning his head back against the armrest.

“Okay, but uh, how?” Joe questioned. You don’t just _not_ turn when you’ve been bit.

Brendon bit his lip. Okay, so they still didn’t know he was a demon, at least, and he didn’t want to get skinned for being one.

“I protected him,” Dallon answered. Sure it wasn’t the exact truth, but Dallon liked to look at it more as a redirection. “Where is Pete, anyway?”

Joe inhaled and then sighed. Angels could prevent vampirism or something, it made sense to him. “He’s uh, Andy brought him upstairs, laid him on the bed in the guest room. He’s still asleep, I think.”

Dallon noticed Joe was cradling his arm. “Hey, you okay?” Joe shook his head.

“Nah, I think I broke it or some shit. It’ll heal.” Dallon grimaced.

“Come here,” he motioned for Joe to come closer, and he did. Dallon took his arm, Joe wincing in pain, and cupped his hand around the spot where he could sense it was broken. He focused, his mind and his energies concentrating on the break, and sent his magic flowing through his palm and into Joe’s arm.

Joe felt a warm pulsation as the throbbing in his arm started to fade away.  After about a minute of silence, Dallon lifted his hand, and as far as Joe could tell only bruising remained. His arm felt better, much better. “Shit, you can mend bones?”

Dallon simply nodded. “I do what I can. Is Andy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty bruised but he’ll be fine. I’m really worried about Patrick though,” Joe’s gaze fell on the sleeping singer. “He’ll be beating himself up for a while, blaming himself, probably. Are you actually gonna be able to get that motherfucker out of him?”

“I really, really hope so.”

Joe went over to the wall and grabbed the keys, unlocking Patrick’s restraints and went to lift him up. Dallon stood and offered to instead. “Just tell me where to bring him. I’m the only one who didn’t get injured here.”

Normally, Joe would argue about being perfectly capable, but _fuck_ if he weren’t sore and exhausted. He really didn’t mind the help. “Uh, guest room, with Pete. He deserves a bed. Follow me.”

Dallon looked over to Brendon, who merely closed his eyes and waved him away, settling more comfortably into the couch, taking care with his neck. He followed Joe up the stairs and into the guest room, laying Patrick down on the empty bed across from Pete, who had started to stir as they opened the door. Joe looked as though he wanted to stay and tell Pete something, but he brushed it off and went to leave instead. He was way too tired. He wanted to nap, too.

Dallon however, stayed as Pete woke up.

“Augh, fuck.” the vampire groaned, sitting up. Looking over him, Dallon thought he looked perfectly fine, like he hadn’t just been in a fight with one of the most powerful demons out there. Pete flexed his jaw back and forth, completely repaired. _Perks of sucking on demons, I guess._ He was still sore, but all-in-all, this was the best he’d felt in days. He opened his eyes to see the angel standing there silently, looking for all intents and purposes like a mildly concerned brother. His eyes glanced over to the opposing bed where Patrick laid on his back. “How long have I been out?” He questioned.

“Couple of hours. About four or five.”

“Patrick okay..?”

Dallon nodded.

Pete stared silently, mind still waking up. His nostrils flared, taking in the surrounding smells. For once, Patrick smelled like Patrick. At least for now. “Hey,” he looked back to Dallon. “Why don’t you smell?”

Dallon’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Because I shower?”

“No, no no.” Pete shook his head. “Like, demons smell like nasty sulfur, wouldn’t angels smell like, I don’t know, cookies or something? Whatever the opposite is? You don’t really smell like anything. Just Dallon.” He smelled the air again. “With a hint of Brendon.”

Dallon smirked. “We don’t really want our presence to be known if we can help it. By smelling like nothing, we’re less likely to be targeted by creatures like you,” he paused. That sounded rude, he thought, so he added, “and werewolves and the like. Like, beings with a strong sense of smell. We just smell vaguely like humans, if at all.”

“Ah.”

Dallon stood in silence for a minute, before coming up with a good point. “Your kind does that too, in a way.”

“We do?” Honestly, Pete had never really met another vampire that didn’t want to just kill him, and even then, the last time was almost a decade ago, not long after he himself had been turned. Unless you counted Mikey, but Pete didn’t.

“Yeah,” Dallon nodded. “Dark magic aside, your aura isn’t black.”

“I thought that was only a demon thing, anyway.” Pete responded, at which Dallon shook his head.

“Werewolves and imps have black auras too. Most creatures that channel dark magic do. But not vampires. You’re under the radar. Your auras are incredibly human.”

Pete raised his eyebrows. Hunh. No wonder Dallon hadn’t known. “Is there anything else with a white aura?”

Dallon thought for a moment. “Yeah, not as much, though. White magic beings, we.. we try to keep to ourselves. Some fae do, though some channel dark magic instead, but I guess with the fae most of them just draw from nature, so you usually can’t tell.” He paused, thinking about the few fae he’d had the pleasure of meeting.

“Can I see your wings?”

“Uh,” Dallon was taken aback by the request. “Yeah, I guess.” He pulled his wings into reality, unfurling them as much as the small room allowed.

“How do you not rip up your shirt?” Pete gawked, estimating the wingspan to be at least a dozen feet. Those things were enormous. He felt his own wings shrink snugly against his back in jealousy.

“Uh, angel perks, I guess. I mean, they make holes in my shirt,” Dallon turned sideways and Pete could see a neat hole in the fabric where Dallon’s wings came forth. “But then they fix themselves once I put them away.”

“Damn, that’s a good perk. Ripped my shirt last week by accident.”

“Yeah.” Dallon sighed, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d ever had a _casual_ conversation about him being an angel. Here was talking to Pete about _angel perks_ like it was just another lunch at the office.

“You okay?”

Dallon snapped out of it. Apparently he’d had some kind of look on his face. “Yeah, um, sorry. I just.. I’ve never talked about this stuff before.”

Pete furrowed his brows. “Have you been an angel your whole life?” Honestly, he had no idea how ‘being an angel’ worked. Dallon shook his head.

“I was twenty one. About as long as you’ve been a vampire.”

“How’d that happen?”

Dallon pressed his wings against his back and sat at the foot of the bed Patrick was resting on. “I...” He hesitated. “These things happen to people sometimes. Trials, they’re called. When someone’s life is headed in the right direction for them. It doesn’t happen often, and to very few. The stars aligned, I guess, and I was given an angel’s trial, and I overcame it.” He explained. His face fell as memories of that night came to the forefront of his mind. “I didn’t really see any other options. I guess that’s why I was picked.”

Pete saw the look on Dallon’s face and asked softly, “What was your trial..?”

Dallon closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing good.” He pushed the memories away, bringing the focus back to the facts. “Brendon’s was similar.”

“Brendon had a trial, too?” That made sense, he guessed, though he couldn’t see how overcoming something bad would warrant becoming a demon.

Dallon nodded. “Demon trials are a little different, though. It’s not about overcoming, it’s about giving in. Carnality, raw and natural emotion, acting on instinct and not thinking about what’s right. Brendon was faced with two options, the moral choice, and the easy choice.”

Pete thought for a moment. “...and he picked the easy choice.”

Again Dallon nodded. “I don’t know any details. Frankly, I don’t want to. But he’s a lesser demon, at least, he’s still able to empathize, to care.”

“To give a damn.”

Dallon smirked at Pete’s word choice. “Yeah.” He sighed. “We’re not telling the guys, okay? You all have enough on your plate; we don’t need any prejudice against Brendon to affect our ability to help Patrick.”

Pete motioned as though he were zipping his lips, then moving to cross his heart, before pausing. “I, uh, don’t suppose you can cross a heart that doesn’t beat. But you get the idea.”

Dallon let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

“Thanks for trusting me.”

“Well, it was either that or die, so.” Dallon shrugged.

Pete smiled slightly. “Hey,” he started. “Mind if we switch spots? I assume you’re staying until Patrick wakes up.”

“Oh,” Dallon stood. “Yeah, of course.” Pete got up and traded places with the angel, sitting by the side of Patrick’s sleeping form, eyes focused solely on him. He took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy, I promise,” he said quietly to Patrick as Dallon sat on Pete’s bed, then laid down on his back, covering himself with his wings.

It was nice, _really_ nice, having them out, not worrying about anyone seeing them. They felt horribly underused, terribly in need of a preening, but they were still soft, warm, and comfortable. He quickly found himself drifting off comfortably to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo thank you so much for the amazing feedback, everyone. <3 <3


	12. Chapter 12

Patrick woke slowly, keeping his tired eyes closed and taking physical inventory. He was still alive, he was breathing, so that was good. He was laying down sideways on a bed, it seemed, so likely the guest room. He was tired as hell, though, and he couldn’t quite remember what had happened, other than pain. It occurred to him that there was a weight gently butting up against his back, and an arm laid gently on his waist. Arm? He felt a slight shift, but didn’t feel any breathing. Pete. Pete’s wings. He.. Hadn’t he tried to kill Pete? Patrick brought his good hand up and rubbed at his eyes. He really didn’t want to remember what that fucking demon had done with his body right about now.

“You awake..?” He heard Pete ask quietly, and felt his hot breath brush against the back of his neck. Patrick groaned out in affirmation, exhausted but definitely conscious. “..Can you sit up? Do you want food?” he sounded concerned, worried. Patrick didn’t blame him.

“No..., and no.” Patrick just wanted to sleep more, but his brain was determined to keep him up right now. He found himself snuggling backwards into Pete a little closer, seeking comfort and honestly, missing closeness with people. Pete responded in kind, his wing bringing him in and acting as a shield. Patrick’s aura was unclouded by the black of the demon, save a few black wisps here and there, and right now, all the vampire saw was exhaustion and fear. Dark muddy grays and mottled yellows. Up this close, he could feel it, and it _sucked_.

“I’m here, Patrick.” Pete comforted. “You’re fine, and I’m okay. Andy and Joe are just a little banged up. Dallon’s fine, and Brendon’s sleeping. He’s fine, too.”

Patrick’s brows gathered. “Dall’n.. ‘nd Brendon..?” he muttered. When had they shown up? What were they doing all the way here in Chicago? Pete tapped his arm to get Patrick to open his eyes, and vaguely motioned towards the other bed, causing Patrick to glance over. All he saw was a set of giant white wings, which just caused more confusion in the exhausted man. He shifted onto his back and looked to Pete, looking rather confused and not really able to process much due to his tired state.

"That's Dallon." He said. It probably wasn't his place to let Patrick know what Dallon was, but it would be kind of obvious if Patrick had seen those wings before he made mention of what he was.

Patrick looked back to the other bed, frowning and trying to figure out what Pete meant. The wings were Dallon? What was that supposed to mean? It took a while for his tired brain to understand what it meant, but once it did register to him, he felt even more confused. "Dallon... is a... bird?" He asked wearily, turning back to Pete for some sort of explanation.

Pete tried not to, but he couldn't help but start laughing at Patrick's tired observation. "Angel." Pete corrected, still laughing about what Patrick had said. Honestly, that sounded like something Brendon would probably call him.

"Hm." Patrick closed his eyes, his sleepiness making it hard to keep them open. "Angel..." He mumbled to himself. Yeah, that probably makes more sense than bird. If Pete was a vampire then what the hell, why not have Dallon be an angel? Nothing is normal anymore anyway. "What happened..?" Patrick wanted to be sure he didn't hurt anyone too badly, or damage anything.

"Don't worry about it." Pete reassured him, his wing keeping him close. "It doesn’t matter. Everyone is safe."

Patrick sighed, not liking that answer, because it definitely fuckin’ mattered, but he was way too tired to keep pressing it.

"Dallon and Brendon are here because Dallon says he can help get that demon out for good."

That caught Patrick's attention, and he moved up towards the headboard so he could sit up without really holding his weight up despite how tired he felt. He looked tiredly but pointedly at Pete, who was leaning up on one elbow. "Can he?"

Pete shrugged then nodded. "Angel stuff, he probably knows some way to do it."

Patrick looked back over towards Dallon, who seemed to shift a bit in his sleep. _Could he really help?_ It seemed too good to be true, but if he could somehow solve this... He sighed and laid back down, Pete following suit and his wing keeping him close once again. Seeing as he couldn't ask Dallon about the whole angel thing until he woke up, Patrick decided to try and press for more details from Pete about what had happened, feeling slightly more awake and cognitive thanks to the news. "How were you able to fight off me- uh, the demon..?" He assumed it was Pete who had done it, but if he did, how did he have the energy to do such? When he saw him earlier this morning he looked absolutely shitty and in no condition to fight off a demon that had been regaining its strength the past few days.

"I, uh.." Pete hesitated, unsure how to go about telling Patrick. Patrick would probably find out one way or another, so maybe just coming clean would be best, especially considering last time he withheld the truth from his friends they got beyond pissed off at him. "I drank from Brendon."

"You..." Patrick looked back at him again, not believing what he had heard. "You drank from... You drank from a human?"

Pete bit his lip hesitantly. "But-"

"Pete." Patrick looked at him seriously. "There is no but about biting a human." An unspoken _you know what happened to Mikey_ seemed to hang in the air.

"Patrick-"

"Brendon's fine. A little anemic, sure, but fine."

Patrick turned his attention back to where he heard the voice, now seeing Dallon awake and sitting up on the bed across from them. "How..?"

"Dallon did some angel shit." Pete cut in with a lie, which received a thankful look from the angel. Neither of them wanted to let Patrick know that Brendon was a demon, in case his own demon was listening in at all. They were also pretty sure that Patrick wouldn't be too fond of that kind of news.

"Angels can prevent a human from changing into a vampire?" That sounded a bit farfetched. Even if angels were powerful, were they really strong enough to hold back something like that from happening?

"I healed Joe's broken arm." Dallon said, hoping that Patrick would figure that if he could do that, then he had enough power to do what they assumed he did. It wasn't a lie. It was just a redirection.

"Broken arm?" Patrick's face fell at hearing that. "Did... Did I do that?"

"Patrick, you know that it wasn't you-"

"But it was, wasn't it?" He cut Pete off, shaking his head. He did hurt his friends. He knew it. Not everyone was 'alright' as Pete had insisted. If that's what had happened to Joe, what'd he done to Andy? To Pete, before he could heal himself? As he started to wonder, his mind recalled the sound of Pete's jaw shattering, very loudly, right in front of him. _Fucking hell._  Patrick went to go sit up, to check on the others, but Pete's wing held him down in place.

"You need to get more rest, dude."

"I've done nothing but rest this past fucking week." Patrick complained, trying to move Pete off of him so he could get up, but Pete didn't budge. It didn't take long for Patrick to give in, despite still wanting to fight back. It wasn't worth the lack of energy at this point. If Dallon was able to heal Joe, then if anything had happened to Andy he probably helped him there too.

There was a moment of silence before Dallon spoke up. "I think I have something that can help you out for the demon thing, until we find something totally permanent."

Patrick frowned a bit. Another temporary solution wasn't something that he wanted. He wanted this thing out and destroyed. Not held at bay again until it takes over and kills all of his friends while he watches.

"It-it would probably be less painful than what you've been having to go through recently." Dallon added, remembering the screams of pain from the other while Andy was performing the ritual earlier. "Definitely be less painful." He corrected.

Patrick's frown softened a bit. Even if it wasn't a total fix, anything would be better than going through that hell every week. "What is it?"

Dallon fished around in his coat pocket, pulling out what looked to be some sort of wood carving attached to a necklace or something.

Pete winced a bit at the sight of it. It probably wouldn't harm him too much himself, but he could actually see the amount of white magic pouring out from it. This thing was definitely powerful. And if this thing wouldn't be considered a permanent fix, Pete really didn't want to know what could top this, and how strong that demon really was.

"A necklace?" Patrick questioned.

"Talisman." Dallon said, holding it out towards Patrick's direction. He hoped that it had been charged enough for it to last until they figured out something different. Based on Pete's reaction to it, he figured it would probably be good enough to last for a while. "It should be charged with enough white magic to repel that demon for a while."

"A while?" Patrick was hesitant. _A while_ was what the ritual was supposed to do, but the demon grew resistant to that. Would it be the same with this? He supposed there wasn't much of a choice but to try it out though. He went to try to sit up again, this time Pete letting him. He still kept his wing around Patrick though for extra support to keep him upright, which Patrick was admittedly thankful for since he felt like he would probably fall over without that. Patrick held his hand out to take the talisman from Dallon.

He held the string, looking at the talisman itself. It was etched with all sorts of strange symbols he couldn't even begin to understand. Would this thing really help? Patrick carefully put it around his neck, and as soon as the talisman touched his skin, he felt much more at ease. Like he didn't have anything to worry about anymore. He figured that was part of the white magic, but was thankful for that. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes as he leaned against Pete, finally being able to feel like he could relax.

At seeing the contented look on Patrick's face, Pete couldn't help but to smile at his friend. All senses of the demon seemed to have vanished. He looked and smelled just like how he was supposed to. He couldn't detect even a hint of sulfur in the air. Maybe aside from Brendon's lingering scent on Dallon, but there was none of that coming from Patrick.

Dallon let out a sigh too, not having been aware he was holding his breath the whole time. It seemed to have worked as far as he could tell. "Just be sure you keep that on at all times. At-at least until we can figure something else out, anyway." Dallon figured it went unsaid that he should keep it on, but he just felt he needed to reiterate that. If Patrick were to take it off, he wasn't sure how long the lingering white magic would hold back the demon, and if it didn't last long, that thing would be pissed and Dallon would be its number one target, if not Pete.

"Thank you, Dallon." Patrick mumbled, his tiredness finally catching up to him once again. He managed to stuff it under his shirt, keeping it as close to himself as possible. He was beyond thankful for this. It seemed like ages since he felt he could relax again, and feel like he wasn't going to end up hurting Pete or anyone else at a moment's notice.

The angel nodded as he stood up, figuring he should leave them be to get some rest. And he should go check on Brendon again anyway, to be sure he was holding up okay. It wasn't exactly like Pete went easy on the blood draining thing. Brendon was probably really weak right now. "Rest easy, yeah?" Dallon smiled at them, glad that he could help. Once he checked on Brendon, he would have to delve into finding a real solution, but this bought them some painless time to do the research that he needed to do. And with that, he went to leave the room so the two of them could get their much needed rest.

::::

Andy had just woken up and left his room as he saw Dallon head downstairs, presumably having left the guest room moments before. He was sore, but thankfully he’d made it out of the situation majorly unscathed, save a few bruises. He’d been woken a bit earlier by Joe, who had explained what Dallon had told him about Pete drinking from Brendon, before Joe left to go pass out on the couch in the living room. He wandered into the guest room, finding Patrick curled up tiredly against Pete, who was still awake and holding the smaller man tightly to him with the help of a strong blackish wing.

“Hey,” Pete whispered.

“How’s Patrick?” Andy spoke quietly back. Pete grinned at him.

“Dallon stopped in, gave us a temporary solution. He’s sleeping like a baby.”

Andy raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “Temporary solution?”

Pete nodded. “I’d show you, but I can’t touch it. I get the weird feeling it'd burn my skin. It’s under his shirt. He called it a Talisman. Read anything about that?” He quizzed.

“I’ve read the word a couple times, never anything direct, though.” Andy guessed there was a lot Dallon could probably do that wasn’t recorded in any human magic manuscript. And probably for good reason, if he was able to make something that suppressed this creature. “Is he going to be able to get this thing out of him for good?”

Pete sighed just a little. “God, I hope so.”

Andy didn’t bother with any extraneous conversation. He was hungry. “Want pizza?”

Suddenly Pete found that he was hungry. Not really, but, pizza suddenly sounded like a really good idea. “Yes, so much yes. Please.”

Andy gave him a thumbs up and left to order enough for everyone.

::::

Downstairs, Dallon found Brendon sleeping calmly on the couch. If they didn’t have business to attend to, he’d probably let him sleep off the injury, but they had to talk while they could do so uninterrupted. He sat at his feet and nudged his leg until he heard him groan.

“The fuck you want, birdbrain...?”

Dallon smirked. The insults didn’t feel so much like venom anymore. They were just playful. “Come on, get up. We need to chat.”

Brendon grumbled as he forced himself to sit up slightly, looking groggily at the shiny angel sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “About what?”

“Patrick, Brendon. Can you think of anything?”

Brendon pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. He knew a lot, it would take a minute.

Dallon waited patiently, rather glad that Brendon was now so willing to help. After a minute, Brendon nodded in affirmation.

“Yeah, there’s something. I mean, maybe. I don’t know how to implement it, but if we can, it’ll definitely send Mephistopheles straight back to Hell, where that fucker belongs anyway. I don’t know who in their fucking mind thought drudging him up would solve anything. I mean, I’m all for chaos, but even I know better than to let one of the great evils of Hell loose in the human world.”

“What’s this something?”

“Just a symbol. I mean, you could just draw it with, like, holy water or ash or something if it were anyone else, and it would expel whatever was in there, but it’s gotta be permanent and powerful if we want to keep Patrick protected. If someone summoned Mephistopheles, he’s not gonna let go of Patrick until either he finishes what he came here for, or he can’t get back inside him ever again. I’d suggest a tattoo, but ink isn’t exactly magical on its own.”

This sparked an idea in Dallon’s mind. “Bren, do you think you could draw it out?”

“Yeah? In my sleep. Why?” Brendon shifted uneasily. To be honest, this wasn’t information he felt he was allowed to freely hand over to an angel. But what could he say? He was a rebel, and for some reason, he trusted Dallon. Maybe it was the whole _you saved my life_ thing.

“I have an idea,” he answered, standing. “I have to go make a phone call.”

Brendon waved him off again, settling back into the couch, sure he’d find out what Dallon had planned eventually. He was too tired to follow him right now. His magic was seriously depleted, and he was suffering from severe blood loss, so the more he rested, the faster he could recover.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

After a few well placed phone calls and some long distance explanations, Dallon sought out Andy and Joe to let them know that he might have a permanent fix. He found Joe sleeping on the couch, looking way too peaceful to wake up, but the doorbell rang and Andy soon emerged to answer it.

“Guests?” Dallon asked, to which Andy shook his head.

“Just pizza, hope you’re hungry!”

“Starving.”

Joe shifted at the commotion. “Five more minutes, please?”

Andy paid the pizza-guy and on his way to the kitchen, slapped Joe gently on his feet. “Come on, dinner!” Dallon watched in amusement as Joe finally sat upright.

“Waking me up for pizza?” Joe groaned. “Guess I can’t really complain.”

“Pizza!” Andy shouted loudly throughout the house. Dallon laughed.

“Is this how it usually works?” he asked, a grin plastered across his face as he saw Pete open the door to the guest room and help Patrick out to the living room and into an armchair.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Joe scooted over and patted the spot next to him.

“Hold that seat for a minute? I’ve got to help Brendon up the stairs.” Joe nodded and swung his feet up, taking up the whole couch to save the two men room. Dallon left to go get Brendon, and Pete brought back four slices of pizza from the kitchen, two for himself, and two for Patrick.

“What, I gotta go get my own?” Joe mock scoffed at him as a plate with two slices was brought down in front of his face from behind him.

“You think so little of me?” he heard Andy remark as he laughed and took the plate from him. Soon enough they had all found a place to sit, Patrick in one armchair, Andy in another, Pete on the floor next to Patrick, and Joe on the couch, and for once it felt like everything was back to normal.

"You look better, Patrick," Joe noticed as he took a bite of his pizza, finishing his thought with his mouth full. "I mean, you still look like fuckin' shit, but you're smiling."

Patrick hadn't even noticed how wide he was grinning. "I feel better, actually."

"Thanks to this motherfucker!" They heard Brendon exclaim. He was holding onto Dallon's arm for support, but he was standing mostly on his own, and he was in a good mood. Pete noticed the odd gray aura surrounding where the two came in contact, but he honestly had no idea what that color meant. He'd never seen such a light gray before. Dark gray, sure, but this was almost silver, and Pete had learned a long time ago that minor differences in shade could mean completely different things.

Dallon smiled sheepishly at the off-compliment. He was just doing what had to be done to help them, he didn't deserve any praise. Anyone else in this situation would have done the same. Patrick explained to Joe what Brendon meant before they all contentedly ate their pizza, joking and laughing and just really enjoying each other's company for the first time in a long time.

When things had settled down considerably, Dallon stood to get their attention. "Okay, I have good news."

"You're gonna get that fucking parasite out of me?" Patrick's attention came to him, voice hopeful.

"I think so. Not today, but that Talisman should hold until then."

Patrick nodded. If he started to feel like he wasn't alone in his body again, he figured he could get them to lock him up.

"Andy, I ordered something on Amazon, it'll be here in two days and addressed to me. Don't open it."

"Buying the solution off of Amazon? Fucking low, don't you think?" Andy questioned half jokingly.

Dallon smirked. "Just a tool for it. Basically, if my names on it, don't open it. But it's definitely coming here." He extended a hand to Brendon, who took it and stood up with him, leaning against him slightly. "Anyway, we should be going. There's nothing else we can do to help right now." He looked at the clock on the coffee table, which read 7:00pm.

"Kenny and Spence are waiting for us. Gotta write some music!" Brendon said excitedly. He certainly had had quite a bit of inspiration from his recent events, and he was itching to write them down and get to work.

"Us, too." Pete said. Brendon raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Officially getting back together?" He questioned.

"We'll see. I think so. Kinda hard not to after being forced into this situation, right? Like a sign or some shit." Joe said, realizing they didn't know what had happened other than Patrick somehow got possessed. "It's actually a long and really fuckin awful story. Maybe we'll get a chance to explain someday." He smiled.

Dallon nodded respectfully, "sounds good to me." He opened the door to leave, helping Brendon the whole way, but not much. "Call us when that package arrives. Should be two days. Then we'll be able to get this freak out of Patrick."

They exchanged their goodbyes, and took their leave, making their way back to the hotel they were staying at.

**::::**

Popping the cardkey into the door, Brendon entered the hotel room with a semi-loud, singsong “I’m hoooome!” He leaned against the door as it swung open, Dallon following close behind.

“Hey! How was personal business?” Spencer asked, mostly at Dallon.

“So far so good. I’m gonna go back in a few days, though.” the angel said, lifting the demon off the door handle somewhat to help him to the bed they’d be sharing that night.

“Dude, what happened? You look wiped.” Kenny remarked, noticing Brendon’s obvious inability to stand on his own.

Brendon let out a nervous laugh. “Let’s uh, just say my crazy antics definitely saved someone’s life.”

Kenny looked at Dallon, smirking knowingly. “He did something reckless, didn’t he?”

Dallon laughed, “Doesn’t he always?” Thankfully, Kenny left it there. It was tiring in this situation, to not be able to give a direct lie. Since Brendon had explained what he was, all kinds of questions were being asked, and when they got directed at Dallon, he’d had to start getting creative. Thankfully, his inability to lie only went so far as to restrict blatant ones. Sarcasm, redirection, omission, those all worked. He could tiptoe around the truth, but it took more brainpower than he cared to admit to make sure it sounded natural. Really, Dallon was a pretty bad liar. He always had been. But if he sounded like he knew more than he let on, they didn’t notice.

“So what’d you motherfuckers do all day?” Brendon asked, settling comfortably into the nice queen mattress, hoarding all but one of the pillows.

“We had a nice little date without you two, thank you.” Spencer grinned.

“He’s lying, he slept until fucking four, and then we had a late lunch and we came back and watched TV.”

Spencer hit Kenny upside the head with a pillow. “I thought I meant something to you, asshole! You telling me the fries we shared meant _nothing_?”

“You took them without asking!”

“Okay, but you didn’t complain, and I _gave_ you a bite of my pasta.”

“I don’t want to hear any make-up sex until my earplugs are in,” Dallon said, returning into the main room from having changed into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.

“So to clarify, you do want to hear the make-up sex, just not until your earplugs are in?” Spencer grinned at him.

“Damn, Dally, that’s a little kinky!” Brendon exclaimed, to which Dallon facepalmed.

“I’m just going to go right to sleep,” Dallon told them, laying down on his back and falling asleep to the sounds of the other three enjoying each other’s company.

**::::**

Dallon woke up to silence and sat up to check the time. Three am? He flopped back down on the bed in defeat, forgetting for a moment that Brendon was next to him.

“Can’t sleep?” he heard him whisper.

“Apparently not.” he whispered quietly back. He had gotten used to having Breezy there next to him, and while he was also used to having to leave for a while, it didn’t make the first few nights without her any easier.

“Me neither.” Brendon paused. There was silence for a minute before he spoke up again. “Don’t hate me, okay?”

“For what...?” Dallon asked, but he didn’t have to, as Brendon’s actions answered his question. Brendon scooted closer to Dallon, reaching an arm out and over him.

“Let me spoon you, asshole. I know you like how our auras mix. I do.”

Dallon furrowed his brows. “Do you?” He had to admit, he did. The darkness that emanated from his best friend mingled with the light that he gave off, and it wasn’t altogether _pleasant_ , but it was comfortable in the strangest way. “Because it’s not natural.” Still, he moved into a better position for Brendon, who he knew wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway. Unless Dallon felt like waking up Kenny and Spencer.

Brendon nuzzled his face into Dallon’s back. “No shit it’s not natural, smarty pants. The fact that we haven’t ripped each other to shreds isn’t natural, either. None of this is natural. Get over it.” he said matter of factly.

Dallon sighed. No wonder the fae had come into existence. When demons and angels got along, they could _really_ get along. Brendon’s darkness was intoxicating, in a way. It reminded him vaguely of being human, and somehow he felt sure Brendon thought the same of him. All the same, Dallon allowed himself to settle into the position of the little spoon, despite his ability to tower over Brendon any day of the week. He couldn’t quite see, but he could feel the strange grayness where their strong auras met and mixed.

Still, Brendon could tell the angel felt a little more than apprehensive. He sighed in return. “Dal, this is gonna be so cliché, but humor me.”

“Alright, then.” He broke their position and took a moment to flip himself so he was facing Brendon, who was scowling at him in the dim moonlight for moving. “Humoring you.”

Brendon decided fuck it and snuggled into him. Dallon was the one who stopped letting him spoon him anyway, and he liked how the angel’s aura made him feel a little less burdened, a little more relaxed. “We’re friends, right?”

Dallon was taken aback slightly as the demon buried himself into him, but he didn’t stop him. He smiled a little when he heard the question. It was so classic demon, asking permission for friendship. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Verbal contract, lite edition. He pulled Brendon close to him, and despite the fact that Brendon was snuggling warmly and needily into him, he didn’t seem the least bit vulnerable. Even in this position, the guy exuded confidence, and Dallon felt as though he were really the one that needed assurance, and he thought maybe Brendon could tell. “We’re friends.” He mumbled into Brendon’s shoulder. “We’re best friends.”

“You’re goddamn right we are,” came Brendon’s muffled reply, and Dallon knew that Brendon _could_ tell. It didn’t take long for both of them to fall asleep again, wrapped up in each other's arms, and, visible only to them, angel wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey bruhs thanks for enjoying thus far!!  
> We've made an update post on our tumblr page that might be important if you want to read it, idk.  
> Long story short, some things are kinda changing a bit, although it might not totally affect this fic/future fics too too much, we felt it necessary to update you guys on this stuff.  
> We'll post a direct link around here somewhere once we make the post, but until then just keep an eye out on mythomusicians.tumblr to stay informed or something I guess?  
> Again tho, thanks so much for sticking around! This fic is actually almost done w o w probably got three or four more chapters I wanna say before it's complete.  
> Then we're jumping right into the sequel to Round the Bend, so stay tuned for that too!  
> Luv u guys kis kis <3


	14. Chapter 14

A few days went by, and things seemed to settle down a bit. Patrick was growing accustomed to not needing to worry about losing control over himself, and he was glad that he didn't have to spend the rest of the week asleep in bed like he had previously. He was able to get up and move around on his own for the most part, the white magic from the talisman helping him gain energy back faster from when they had to do the ritual. Things seemed to be relatively normal once again as the four of them were in the kitchen for breakfast. In most cases Patrick wouldn't be awake for breakfast, even before the whole demon thing happened, but he felt like the past month was wasted by sleeping so much that he wanted to be awake for as long as he could. Patrick padded into the kitchen smiling at the scent of waffles.

“Someone making breakfast?”

“Joe is,” Andy replied. “You want some?”

Patrick sat at the table, reveling in the morning light streaming through the windows. He hummed warmly. “Yes please. Mornin’ Pete!” Patrick beamed.

“You got it, two waffles for Patrick.” Joe confirmed without turning around from the waffle maker.

Pete shuffled out tiredly from the basement, having fallen asleep around four am, his insomnia keeping him up and his mind churning out all kinds of inspiration onto paper spread out over the floor, coffee table, and opposite couch.

“Waffles for Pete?” Joe questioned, to which Pete failed to respond, let alone acknowledge. He merely grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard, followed by a box of Count Chocula no one remembered buying. “So, no waffles for Pete.”

Pete looked up from the fridge. “Hmm..? Oh. Ooooh.” He suddenly realized he was being offered waffles. “Shit, sorry.” He yawned. “No, just cereal.” He grabbed some of Andy’s almond milk and poured it into the bowl, smirking as Patrick and Andy watched on in horror.

“What the fuck, Pete?” the two said in unison.

“You’re a monster, dude.” Joe agreed.

Pete just grinned at them evilly as he added the cereal into the milk, doing it in the wrong order just to annoy his friends.

“Bit macabre, don’t you think?” Patrick asked as Pete sat next to him.

“What, Count Chocula?” Pete asked, mouth full.

“Yeah, man!”

Pete grinned, his cheeks puffed out from the cereal. “This vampire’s weakness is _milk_. Also it tastes good as fuck, leave me alone.”

“I can’t believe you, I swear you do this for comedic effect.”

Pete just winked and continued eating.

**::::**

The morning continued generally the same way, everyone sitting around the table, enjoying their vegan waffles and cereal and making jabs at each other or otherwise talking about music. Eventually they had all shifted into the living room, Joe and Pete watching TV, Patrick calling Elisa and chatting quietly about how everything is great, and Andy reading something about Crossfit in a fitness magazine. Pete was just beginning to slip out of consciousness as he heard the flap of the mailbox and the thud of a package come from outside.   
“Hey, Andy, call Dallon, will you?”

Patrick, having just recently hung up with Elisa, gawked at him. “ _Seriously_? You can _hear_ the _mail_?”

Pete just shrugged. “I downplay my abilities, so shoot me.” He left to go grab the package as Patrick muttered under his breath.

“ _Fat lotta good shooting would do_.”

“I heard that!” Pete called out and Patrick flailed his arms in defeat.

Pete stepped onto Andy’s porch to find a sizable box addressed to _Dallon Weekes_ , and on top of it sat a much prettier looking satin satchel, held closed by a simple gold drawstring. It was small, and Pete saw there was a small note attached to it. He read the gold script, which was decorated with small stars and hearts all over the paper.

_'To: Dallon ♥ You owe me big!'_

It made no mention of from whom it came, and had no address on it whatsoever. Frankly, Pete was curious. He went to open the satchel, only to find it magically bound shut. _Damn magic_ , he thought. It would only open for Dallon, then, obviously. Damn.

He brought both packages in, setting them on the kitchen table while Andy was talking to Dallon.

"What'd Dallon say?" Patrick asked once Andy hung up.

"He's on his way."

"That was fast," Joe remarked.

"Well he's presumably got some personal interest in sending a demon back to hell," Andy pointed out. "Seeing as how he's an angel and all."

"Good point."

Pete sank back down into the couch and the four men watched TV together in relative silence. As thankful as he was for being able to put his wings away finally, the dark magic having run through him enough, he'd actually grown rather attached to them. Still, he could finally wear shirts again. He didn't mind not wearing shirts, but not having the freedom to choose really bothered him.

::::

After an episode of Law and Order, Pete heard footsteps heading up to Andy’s front door, and he stood to get the door before Dallon could even knock. He swung the door open just as Dallon had lifted his hand, and smirked as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Hey, Pete!” Brendon grinned at him from behind Dallon.

“Hey!” Pete was surprised to see him, honestly. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” the demon answered enthusiastically. “Dallon’s magic helped,” he said loud enough for everyone else to hear, then dropped his tone low enough so only Pete could hear him as Dallon passed Pete to greet the others. “I’m a lot better, really. Magic’s back to normal. Thanks, man.”

“Thanks for what..?” Pete whispered back. “I nearly sucked you dry.”

“Thanks for being concerned.”

Pete gave him a quizzical look as if to say _why wouldn’t I be_?

“You have every reason to hate me, and you don’t. So,” Brendon continued, finishing his open ended statement with a shrug.

Pete opened his mouth to protest but Brendon continued into the house past Pete, greeting everyone with a bright “Hey!”

Pete shook his head and laughed slightly to himself as he went back inside, closing the door behind him.

“So how’s this going to work?” Patrick asked in Dallon’s direction.

“And what’d you buy off Amazon, anyway?” Joe posed curiously.

Dallon took a deep breath. “Okay, this isn’t going to be the most pleasant thing, but it should do the trick.”

**::::**

“.....A tattoo.” Patrick asked in the form of a statement after Dallon finished his explanation.

Dallon hesitated. He knew Patrick was the only member of Fall Out Boy who didn’t want tattoos. Still, this was the only way he could think of.

“Yes, but we can put it anywhere, and after a day or two, only non-human beings will be able to see it.”

“Okay, so what kind of ink are you using?” Dallon heard Andy ask, and he stood and went to the kitchen where had Pete said he had two packages waiting. “Dallon?”

“Hold on,” he called back. “I’m going to show you.” He brought back both packages into the living room, the box and the satchel, sat in the empty armchair, and started to work the box open, revealing a relatively simple but safe tattoo machine and a few more supplies needed for the job. “So this what we’re using. I’ll get back to that in a minute.” He set it aside, and went to look at the satin bag a little more closely.

“So what’s that then?” Brendon asked. He was incredibly curious as to what could possibly be powerful enough to expel Mephisto and keep him out. If the looks on their faces were any indication, the other guys wanted to know as well.

“Yeah, no address or anything. I don’t think the mailman put it there.” Pete mentioned.

Dallon smirked as he read the little note. “I uh, it’s from a friend in the white magic community. Child of Eros, bit of a cupid, sometimes. Great musician.” He looked to Brendon. “He told me he’d send me some demos he and a friend are working on over in France. You have to listen with me later.”

Patrick scrunched his brows together. “Eros? Isn’t that a Greek deity? How does that work when our problems are all pretty damn Christian?”

Brendon meanwhile was still holding back a snort of laughter at hearing ‘white magic community.’ He’d have to ask Dallon about this community later. Demons and other dark shit didn’t care to talk to each other, ever.

“It mostly depends on what people believe in, you know? When the Greeks and the Romans were pretty much all polytheistic, those gods and goddesses reigned in that area. They don’t have a lot of followers anymore, but they’re still around.” Dallon opened the string tie around the satchel with ease, pulling out a small bottle of shining gold liquid. It took everything Brendon had not to breathe out its name, lest he give away that he knew more than just a human would. But seeing the material was so rare, so unlikely to ever happen, he still let out a hitched breath in slight shock.

Pete could obviously tell the liquid was important, too, as he had much the same reaction as Brendon.

“What is that..?” Pete asked curiously, as Dallon held the bottle with great reverence.

“Ichor.”

“Blood of gods,” Joe said, rather in awe.

Patrick was just shy of going slack-jawed. “Holy smokes.”

“Holy shit,” Andy agreed.

“Holy _fuck_.” Came from Pete.

“You’re putting _god blood_ in my _skin_?”

Dallon nodded. “Kinda no other option.”

“Shit, is that gonna do anything bad? Is that safe?”

Dallon shook his head. “As far as ichor is concerned, nothing bad will happen unless you’re human, which, as soon as Mephistopheles entered you, you no longer were.”

Dallon soon became aware of pretty much all eyes staring at him. Joe spoke up first after an almost uncomfortably long silence.

“Mephistophe-what?”

Dallon mentally smacked himself. Duh. He hadn’t told him why this was all so necessary. “Mephistopheles. It’s the, uh, it’s who’s inside Patrick. He’s.. well, he’s one of the worst demons. Ever. A high demon, so he has no body, and he’s immortal. He can only rise from Hell into Earth when summoned, and well, it costs at least a couple lives to summon him.”

“So...” Andy thought for a moment. “So, that’s why the ichor?” Dallon nodded again.

“This demon won’t go down without a fight, he was summoned for a reason and he either has to fulfill that end of the contract, or be put in a situation where he physically can’t. So that’s why the tattoo. I mean, sure, we could paint the symbol on Patrick with the ichor and expel him, but as soon as it washes off, Mephisto will be able to return, and with a vengeance.”

“Permanent and powerful,” Brendon summed up. Patrick took a deep breath and the room stood still for a moment.

“Well, might as well get started.”

**::::**

It took a bit of time to get everything situated, but once they had gotten all the things together that they needed to, everyone was waiting for the solution to finally be put in effect. Patrick had decided that the tattoo should be on his lower back. That way, it wouldn’t be noticeable to him or anyone else. Dallon had said it wouldn’t be visible to humans, but he didn’t exactly want some valuable thing being flaunted out to the world to anyone who wasn’t human.

Patrick was laying stomach-down on the couch in the basement, shirt off. He still wasn’t keen on the whole tattoo thing, but if this would finally get this thing out of him, and permanently, he wasn’t going to be saying no to it. A few minutes or whatever of pain was definitely more preferable to a demon taking control of his body and killing all of his friends.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Joe couldn’t help but ask as Dallon was finishing setting things up. “Don’t mean no offence, but you hardly look like you’d know how to use one of these things.” He motioned to the tattoo gun in Dallon’s hand.  
Dallon had already considered this. He knew he wasn’t experienced in using one, or even having one used on him, so he handed it off to Brendon, which put everyone else even more on edge.

“He showed me the glyphs or whatever they’re called, I can handle it.” Brendon said before they could question Dallon, who wouldn’t be able to lie. The truth was that Brendon knew it better than Dallon did, anyway. It was much safer for the lesser demon to be the one expelling the high demon in this case. Plus, it came with a little sense of self-righteousness, to be expelling one of the highest demons around. Basically, he got to tattoo a big “Fuck You!” onto Mephisto’s reputation. _Heh. Lesser demon my ass._

Patrick let out an uneasy sigh, which caused Pete to kneel down beside him to reassure him.

“Tattoos aren’t too bad. It’ll be done before you know it.” He said, smiling at his friend, but his words didn’t seem to have much of an effect on Patrick’s fears.

"Let's just hurry and do this." Patrick said, bracing himself for the worst.

When the needle first touched his back Patrick let out a tiny yelp and clutched tightly to the pillow he was holding onto with his one hand to try and distract himself from the pain.

Pete was concerned already. If he was acting like this from just one motion, he wasn't sure how Patrick was supposed to last how ever long it took for the process of getting it tattooed. "It's okay, Patrick." Pete tried to help him take his mind off of what was going on, hating to see his best friend in pain like this.

Patrick moved his grip off of the pillow and grabbed Pete's hand instead as Brendon continued, not stopping to get him adjusted to the pain at all. He was a vampire. He could handle it. "H-how do you guys deal with this?"

Pete laughed a bit and squeezed Patrick's hand whenever he'd grip his tighter. "You get used to it after a while."

"Fuck getting used to it-" Patrick winced again, totally hating this situation. The pain was too much. He thought the pain from the charm was bad, but this felt like a more concentrated pain and it _hurt like hell_. He thought maybe Brendon was really just stabbing him in the back with a butterknife. Pete's attempts to help distract him were doing next to nothing, and by the time the tattoo was a little more than a third of the way finished, he'd ended up passing out from the pain. Brendon used this chance to hurry up, figuring it'd be easier if he wasn't conscious to finish the rest of the symbol.

Pete kept holding onto Patrick's hands, just wishing that it would be done with so they could finally return to a real sense of normality for the first time in the past months.

**::::**

After about another twenty minutes, Brendon had deemed that he was finished. He'd kept the symbol a bit on the small side due to the limited supply of ichor that they had, but it was definitely there and easy for everyone to see since it was still fresh. The golden symbol seemed out of place against Patrick's otherwise untarnished skin. But definitely not bad. Andy left to go get a bottle of water for when he came back to his senses, and Pete adjusted so Patrick was laying comfortably on his lap.

"Do you think that demon is gone?" Joe asked, curious as to if this thing really worked.

"Patrick smells like Patrick to me." Pete said, which was a relief. With the talisman he couldn't sense that the demon was anywhere inside Patrick, so it was hard to tell if it was still just the talisman that made Patrick seem normal again or if it really was the tattoo. But he didn't want to risk taking that talisman off of his friend in case it didn't work, and they'd have a pissed off high demon on their hands. His aura wasn't showing any signs of darkness though, so he took that as a good sign.

But that's when he noticed it.

It was faint at first, and Pete wondered if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, but it slowly grew more prominent, absolutely flooring the vampire.

"Hey, Dallon..."

The angel in question looked over from his conversation with Brendon, helping him clean up the tattooing utensils and whatnot, wondering what was up.

"Patrick's aura... It-it's white."

"White?" Dallon looked at Patrick, which confirmed what Pete had said. "How..?"

"Maybe it's just coming from the ichor or something?" Pete offered as an explanation, but Dallon shook his head.

"That shouldn't be making a difference in his aura." Dallon said, walking towards them.

Seeing the white aura for himself, Brendon feared the worst. If it was white, then Patrick was definitely not human, and the fact it was white meant that when Patrick woke, Brendon's secret demon-ness wouldn't be so much of a secret anymore. "I-I'll go get Andy." The demon offered, hurrying off before Patrick could wake up and skin him alive for being a demon.

Dallon nodded in understanding, but then focused his attention back on Patrick. It was white, there was no mistaking it. The same color as his own. Did this mean- "Did Patrick have a trial?"

Joe raised an eyebrow in confusion as to what he meant, but Pete furrowed his brow.

"After the whole demon thing happened we didn't really get to talk much about what we'd been doing during our hiatus-"

"No no, it wouldn't have been before Mephisto came into the picture. Demons can't possess creatures of white magic, no matter how powerful the demon." Dallon shook his head. "It had to have happened while it was still in him."

"Wait so, are you saying that Patrick-"

"I think so. His aura is exactly like mine." Dallon commented. Even creatures with white magic never had pure white auras like angels did. "But he had to have had a trial at some point for it to be possible..."

Pete shrugged, looking back to the sleeping Patrick on his lap. They'd just have to wait for him to wake up for an answer about what happened.

"Wings..." Dallon breathed quietly, seeing the non-tangible wings start forming at Patrick's back, which confirmed his suspicions.

At some point, Patrick must've passed a trial to become an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll make this quick so you don't have more and more blocks of text to read--  
> The news from the other day won't be affecting the fic at all, no worries friends! I'm not really good at talking/typing like Jenni is though, so I apologize ahead of time for any awkwardness or whatever;;  
> Just wanted to let you guys know, this fic is almost done! I'm surprised myself honestly, I thought we had longer before it was finished but there's really only three chapters after this one! There might be a bit of a small hiatus before we post the third and final installment in this series, mainly because it isn't quite done yet and I could have sworn I had more time before we were finished with this oops;;  
> But we'll see where we end up by the end of this yeah?  
> Thank you for still sticking around through this, it means a lot!  
> ♥  
> (also wow that new panic! vid is giving me so many idea for fic stuff ahahha)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than the previous chapter, but the last one was a bit on the long side anyway  
> :^)  
> Enjoy nonetheless! It's almost done aaa!!!  
> Thanks again for keeping up!

It wasn't too long after Andy had returned to the basement, without Brendon who said he was going to 'go make sure Kenny and Spencer weren't doing the nasty without me', that Patrick had finally awoke. He sat up off of Pete's lap tiredly, rubbing his eyes and seeing everyone was looking at him.

"...what?" Patrick asked apprehensively. Why was everyone staring?

"Uh, how are you feeling?" Dallon asked, figuring he'd address the apparent angel thing in a minute.

Patrick smiled at him. "Even better than before, honestly." Even from before the demon had entered him. He felt just generally happier, more at ease than he'd been for a long time. After giving it some thought, he corrected his answer. "My back hurts a bit though." Maybe not hurt. But it definitely felt different. Like there was a sort of weight there. But also not. Patrick just attributed it to an effect of the tattoo, not dwelling on it too much.  
“Right…” Dallon wavered for a moment. It didn’t seem that Patrick was aware of being an angel.

“So how does it look?” Patrick asked, curious about the tattoo a bit. He twisted to try and get a look at it for himself, soon being met with a faceful of white feathers. Patrick, as he'd moved, had made the wings become fully visible, his magic new and a little unruly. Not to mention that he had no idea he even had magic to use.    
Pete, being close beside Patrick, was nearly knocked off the couch from the appearance of the large wings. “Wings..” Pete had echoed what Dallon had said in amazement before carefully pushing the wing away from where he was sitting. It felt soft and it was pretty much exploding with white magic.  
“I-” Patrick was speechless, unsure what was going on, and why he was nearly engulfed in two large wings all of a sudden. He was suddenly very aware of everyone's eyes on him again, as if they were expecting some sort of explanation. "Why do I have..." He trailed off, hesitantly putting his hand to one of the large wings. It definitely felt real, and looked as real as Dallon's were. Patrick stretched his back a bit, trying to see if he could get them to move. He found, surprisingly, that his muscles felt natural there. They were huge in comparison to Patrick's short stature. At least five feet long for each wing. It somehow made Patrick feel even smaller to be drowning in these huge wings. They were definitely comfortable, soft, and warm though.

"Patrick, did you have a trial?"

Dallon's words shook Patrick from his thoughts. "A what?"

"Trial. Uh, they differ for each person but it ultimately comes to making a big choice about something. For angels, it usually involves doing the right thing versus something that would be expected of someone in your situation." Dallon explained succinctly.

"Angel..?" Patrick was focused on that word, looking back at his wings once again. "An angel? M-me..?" That couldn't be right. What had he done that would be deemed worthy of becoming an angel? He spent the past month being possessed by a demon, how could he be an angel? None of this made sense to him. Nonetheless, Patrick tried to think about a situation that Dallon had said would have occurred. He leaned into his wings a bit, folding them closer to him, finding them to be comfortable and calming, helping keep his mind straight.

"I think..." Patrick started, his memory fixating on something. "I remember.. this elevator. I was dying, and I was in an elevator. The wall.. opened up, and there was a man, I-I don’t know who, but he was tied and gagged and blindfolded, and I wasn’t.. I wasn’t in control, it was the demon, that- Mephistopheles is his name, right? Th-there was a knife next to me, and he grabbed it, and I knew, I could feel what he was going to do. Oh, God, Dallon, he was going to fucking kill him, slice his throat or stab him or, just, brutal murder-” Patrick closed his eyes, horrified at his memories that felt so real but so not him, but kept going. “So, I- Somehow, I just.. I stopped him. I pushed him back, I made him go away, I couldn’t kill this man, I had already seen myself kill Pete, and I had seen myself kill Joe, and-” Pete reached over and grabbed his right hand to make him stop, squeezing as hard as he could.

“We didn’t die. Not in the end.” Pete reassured him. “We got another chance, though I’m still this fucking creature,” he spat quietly.

Patrick opened his eyes, holding back tears from his previously repressed memories. “Is- could that be it..?” he pleadingly asked Dallon.

"That... That could very likely be it." Dallon said after taking a moment to process the information about what had happened to them. It seemed like they'd been through a hell of a lot due to this demon. He didn't want to pry at finding out more about the situation, figuring that they would let him know if they wanted him to know. "Overpowering a high demon like that would easily warrant angel status." Dallon added with a nod.

Patrick let out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down and get his mind off of what had happened with that demon. Pete still held Patrick's hand tightly to make sure he knew that he was still there and very much not dead. Well, maybe he was a little dead, but he was the only one, and he was an exception.

"An angel though.." The word felt foreign to him. "It can't..." Patrick furrowed his brow, unsure how to react to it. He moved his wings a bit, finding it strangely easy to do. Stretching them out really did make him feel tiny in comparison.

Pete squeezed his hand again before letting himself lean against his friend, the wing he was against then sort of wrapping around him, and it was hard to tell that Pete was even there aside from his feet poking out from underneath. The vampire laughed a bit, trying to move the feathers from out of his face, but Patrick didn't budge, finding this to be rather funny.

"Hey, where'd Pete go?" He laughed, which ended up bringing a smile to everyone's face.

It'd felt like forever since Patrick looked happy and laughed about something silly like this. It finally felt like everyone could relax without worry that the demon would kill them all. Andy sighed in relief at that before deciding to sit on the other side of Patrick, followed by Joe.

Seeing the four of them squished together and laughing about the wings made Dallon wonder if he should tell Kenny and Spencer what he was. He thought about it for a moment before deciding against it, figuring it was probably too late to let them know. They'd probably act similarly to how Brendon did when he first told him. No, he'll keep it a secret for a while longer.

"Dallon, what comes with being an angel?" Patrick asked, snapping the older angel back to reality.

"Well, becoming an angel should give you an innate knowledge of what it involves. With such powerful beings like angels and demons, that information should already be known." Dallon explained.

Patrick frowned, not entirely sure what he meant. He didn't feel like he knew more than he did previously.

"Let me ask you something then." Dallon prompted, thinking to what sort of question only an angel would know. "What does molting season mean to angels?"

Patrick gave it very little thought before answering. "It usually happens in the beginning of summer, roughly around the entire second week of June. The bulky winter feathers thin themselves out for the summer weather that is following." After a moment Patrick raised an eyebrow. How'd he know that?

"You see? It’ll feel more natural, over time. Less like skimming through an encyclopedia, more like you went to angel college and got your Masters. Personal experience, by the way, you should probably keep a broom handy during that week." Dallon added. He'd always been sure to take that week off away from his family and band so he wouldn't raise suspicion about what he was.

Patrick nodded, calming down a bit. He figured that any questions he would have would end up being answered by this new angel knowledge, which put him more at ease.

Dallon went to go excuse himself so the four of them can find out more about angel things on their own, feeling it necessary to call Brendon and fill him in on what happened.

**::::**

"A fuckin' _angel_?"

"Yeah." Dallon responded to Brendon, standing alone in Andy's kitchen. "It really surprised everyone."

He heard the demon sigh on the other end of the phone. "Shit, no wonder Mephisto wanted to keep a hold on him as a host."

Dallon nodded to himself before speaking again. "He didn't want another angel roaming around in the world."

There was a bit of silence before Brendon spoke up. "If it's all the same to you, I don't really mind another angel in the world."

Dallon smiled slightly. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

"Yeah, just means I have to try harder to get wimpy humans to fuck up.” Dallon could practically hear Brendon’s shit-eating grin. “Any idea what his charge is?"

Dallon furrowed his brows and let confusion seep into his voice. "Charge?"

"Yeah, like, isn't that what you angels do? Have charges? Like how you're supposed to 'keep me in line?’ I mean, I have my own guardian angel! God _loves_ me." He snickered playfully at the last bit.

"Oh, you mean his job?” Dallon ignored the snarky comments Brendon threw through the phone. “I think it'll occur to him at some point. He's under no obligation to tell anyone, but he'll know. We’re not all _guardians_ and stuff, man. There are plenty of other kinds of angels-"

"Alright whatever man.” Brendon cut him off. “If it's cool with you, I think we should head back to LA soon. I don't think Trick would be happy to learn I'm a demon, especially now that he's a fuckin’ winged wonder just like you."

"Yeah, sure." Dallon understood the other's reservation about telling the Fall Out Boy guys that he was a demon, considering everything they just went through to get rid of one. "I'll let them know you said goodbye. We can leave tomorrow, just make sure Kenny and Spence are okay to leave, too. They seem to like it here, I’d hate to cut their vacation short."

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll find out for ya. Thanks dude."

Brendon ended the call, and Dallon went to go rejoin the others in the basement, say his goodbyes, and help the guys answer any last questions to which Patrick might not be able to articulate answers just yet.


	16. Chapter 16

As a few days passed, the four boys from Chicago started to grow accustomed to the lack of demon at their throats and the fact Patrick had become an angel. Things started to feel relatively normal, at least normal in their terms. Pete's drinking habits had been starting to get a bit more on track, which everyone was thankful for so they wouldn't have to deal with him being bloodthirsty to the extent that he had been before.

Andy and Joe were out picking up dinner while Patrick and Pete continued writing their music, putting some final touches on the mostly studio-ready work. Pete sighed and leaned back, resting his head against one of Patrick's wings, outstretched from his position lengthwise on the couch.  Everyone had been using the wings as a source of warmth and comfort, so Patrick didn't mind keeping them out for everyone.

"I gotta say, as much as I love the fact that that demon is gone, I think I still miss the taste of the blood." Pete said absentmindedly; the taste of the packaged human blood tasted like crap in comparison to what he'd taken from Patrick and Brendon. He made a reminder to himself to shave down his fangs later. It'd been a few days since he'd done it, and they were getting much more noticeable now, itching just slightly for him to bite something.

"Yeah?" Patrick raised an eyebrow at the vampire, keeping him close with his wing. "Was demon blood really that much better?"

"So much." Pete sighed, "Anything would be better than this boring crap." He gestured toward an empty packet that was laying on the table from earlier this morning that he hadn't gotten rid of.

"How about angel blood?"

Pete looked at him in confusion before frowning. "I wouldn't know."

"You could." Patrick said, tilting his head to the side a bit.

"Patrick-"

"We both have to be curious about it." The new angel cut in. Out of all of the knowledge that was available to him, he couldn't pinpoint a single thing about what a vampire drinking from an angel would do. He supposed it wasn't exactly a common occurrence, if it'd even happened before at all, honestly.

"You have white magic." Pete frowned, shaking his head, more to convince himself not to. It was probably bad how enticing the offer was. "White magic can't be good for me."

"But you don't know that." Patrick said, his wing bringing Pete a bit closer to his neck. "I haven't hurt you by existing yet." He really was wholly curious about what would happen. If he could suffer through the pain of a tattoo, he figured experiencing another bite from Pete would feel like a walk in the park. Then again, he _had_ passed out from the tattoo... Patrick shook that particular thought from his head. "And it's not like I could become an angel vampire hybrid or something." Patrick joked, his curiosity tugging at every fiber of his being.

"Patrick, I don't know.." He really wanted to though. Being close to Patrick's neck was all too tempting to bite down. He wasn't extremely thirsty, he was probably good for at least another day with no outbursts, but if there was blood right there, he wouldn't hesitate. Which made this choice hard, hearing his friend's blood pulsing beneath his skin. To his relative surprise, however, he couldn't smell it. _Angel perks_ , he thought. No wonder he hadn't immediately gone for Dallon that night. "Are... Are you sure you'd be okay with it?"

"Angels can't lie, Pete. I'm fine with it." Patrick reassured him.

Pete hesitated for a moment, probably not as long as he should have considering the situation. "If it hurts you, let me know to stop."

"And if it hurts you then you stop too." Patrick said, not sure how an angel's blood would affect a vampire. That kind of concentrated white magic probably wouldn't be the best of things, but maybe he was wrong and the white magic would have a positive effect on him.

Pete nodded and decided to carefully move to straddle Patrick's lap so he could be at a better angle to bite the angel. Patrick's wings moved to sort of conceal Pete behind them, keeping him close. Pete responded by bringing out his own wings and wrapping them around Patrick as much as he could in return, mostly around his lower back. He'd definitely started to grow more accustomed to his own wings, able to control them and his limited magic enough now that bringing them out didn't cause his shirt to rip up in the process, much like Dallon's.

"No turning back now." Pete said quietly, his fangs gently brushing against Patrick's neck. He was rather nervous, for himself and Patrick. His heart didn't beat, his breathing didn't quicken, and yet his nerves still managed to feel all fired up. This was completely foreign to both of them.

"It's okay, Pete." Patrick said, trying to let loose a bit of his white magic in the area, expand his aura, to calm Pete's mind and worries. It seemed to work, as the vampire finally bit down into Patrick's neck.

Saying that it hurt like hell would be putting it lightly. It took everything within Patrick not to scream out at feeling the fangs embed themselves into his neck, it hurting even more than the previous times Pete had done it. His wings wrapped tighter around him though, the pain not being enough to overpower his curiosity, wanting him to continue if he could.

Patrick's blood definitely tasted different than before. It wasn't that delicious taste that he couldn't get enough of, but it wasn't totally bad. Y'know, aside from the searing pain that came from the holy blood touching his tongue. The white magic didn't seem to be helping him in the same way that the demon blood would. The angel's blood seemed to burn, for lack of a better word, but after a minute it wasn't totally dreadful. Since Patrick hadn't told him to stop, he figured a little more wouldn't hurt much worse. The more Pete drank, oddly enough he was soon tasting that taste he'd remembered his blood tasting like before, the blood that was embedded with dark magic. Tasting that, Pete wanted to continue drinking more, but in fear of taking too much from him, he managed to fight off the urge. He carefully let go of Patrick's neck, sealing the wound before looking at his friend.

"Patrick?"

He seemed to have a pained look on his face, eyes squeezed shut. He was breathing kind of heavily, wings still clamped tightly around the vampire.

His wings..

Pete looked at the once pure white wings, seeing nothing but black feathers surrounding him now.

"I-I'm okay." Patrick managed to squeak out after a minute, his grip not letting up. "I... I can't move."

"What?" Pete felt his stomach drop, fearing that he had really hurt Patrick.

"I can't move.." The angel repeated. His muscles didn't seem to be responding to his attempts to move his wings away from Pete. He felt frozen, and not once had he gone numb.

"Shit, Patrick, a-and your wings-"

"What about them?" Patrick's voice was tinged with worry, still not having opened his eyes.

"They... They're black."

"They're what?" This time it was Patrick who felt his stomach drop. "Black wings are... A sign of dark magic..." He dug a bit more into that knowledge base, hoping to find something useful to this. "Angel's wings are pure white 'cause of their white magic.. So, if they're black..."

"The opposite must be true?" Pete guessed.

Patrick didn't respond, focusing on trying to get his body to listen and move. It took a few minutes before he felt he could move anything, but Patrick finally opened his eyes, seeing the black wings for himself. The calming aura he was giving off earlier seemed to be doing nothing now as Patrick feared the worst in this situation. Had he screwed up being an angel already?

Seeing the sense of panic in Patrick's eyes, Pete did his best to try and calm him down. "Your-your aura is still white. Kind of. So I don't think you're any less of an angel now or anything."

"Kind of?"

"Yeah, it's definitely still white, but..." Pete thought about how to describe it. "Every so often I'll see a few splotches of black appear then disappear."

That didn't exactly help alleviate Patrick's worries.

After another few minutes, he was finally able to move again, loosening his tight grip on the vampire but keeping his now dark wings gently draped against him. The bottom feathers still seemed to be tinged with white, Pete noticed.

"...how do you have dark magic?" Pete finally asked. Angels and dark _anything_ generally didn't mix.

Now that he could move again, Patrick relaxed slightly, allowing him to think a bit more straightly. He racked his brain for an explanation before finally settling on something that fit. "Post-possession powers."

Pete looked at him with concern and confusion, not entirely sure what that meant.

"Often after a demonic possession, some of the demon's magic gets left behind. In most cases, the magic goes untouched by the human host and it fizzles out on its own without problem. But, in the cases of either a non-human host, or a high demon, it makes itself known." Patrick practically recited.

"So, you still have dark magic from that demon despite being an angel?"

"The more powerful the demon, the more dark magic is left behind. Sometimes the effects of the post possession could last a lifetime..." Patrick finished, looking at his wings once again. They were black. The feathers were totally dark in color. "I have more dark magic in me right now than white magic." He finally concluded, "You drained my white magic."

"Will you be okay?" Pete asked quietly, worry in his eyes.

Patrick nodded, a bit more sure this time now that the knowledge seemed to fit to the situation. "Magic just takes time to replenish, angel or otherwise."

Pete sighed in relief, just glad he hadn't done something that was irreversible.

"And how about you? Are you okay?"

Pete gave it some thought. He didn't seem to have that powerful boost or whatever that the dark tinged blood had given him before, but he definitely felt different than having just human blood. "I feel... calmer. Like I can relax easily." Pete wasn't exactly sure how to phrase it. "And I'm not thirsty like, at all."

"The magic you took is probably calming your emotions, while previously the dark magic seemed to enhance it all." Patrick inferred, remembering back to the first bite, when Pete had broken down crying.

Pete nodded, figuring that made sense to him. He definitely liked this after effect more than what the dark blood had given him. It reminded him vaguely of how smoking weed felt when he was a twenty-something, or his old blue pills, but tamer. Safer. He was a little high, sure, but it was clean.

"But what about the outside of you? I can't see your wings from here."

Pete scrunched his brows. He hadn't even thought to look at his own wings. He pulled them back from around Patrick and, oh.

"They're cute!" Patrick cut in before Pete could say a word. They weren't near-black anymore, they were practically gold, save for any metallic sheen.

"This is gonna mess up my aesthetic." Pete offered. "How am I supposed to be emo with these fuckin' things?" He wiggled them slightly.

"Pete, you haven't been emo since Bronx was born." Patrick laughed softly. Pete smirked and conceded, resting his head against Patrick's shoulder, bringing his wings back around the angel's lower back and frowning a bit at the bite mark that didn't seem to be healing up as quickly as it had the first time.

"Andy's gonna kill us."

Patrick sighed, feeling Pete's words weren't far from the truth. "Oh fucking well. It was something we both agreed to."

"Hey, are you even allowed to swear, being an angel and all?" Pete laughed a bit. "I mean, Dallon doesn't, usually."

"Oh golly gee willikers, Petey! You're right! I shouldn't be saying those _evil_ words!" Patrick rolled his eyes before resting his head against Pete's now-warm shoulder. "Fuck you, Pete." He said with a smile, closing his eyes as the tiredness from his lack of blood was finally catching up to him.

Pete laughed again, allowing himself to relax as well, thinking a nap sounded great right now. "Your wings will turn back right?"

"Once I restore some more white magic, they should." Patrick answered tiredly, and with that he seemed to be out like a light.

Pete shortly followed suit, the white magic really calming him down a lot. It wasn't bad. Despite the initial pain the blood caused, he thought he much preferred the angel blood to demon blood any day of the week.

At least angels didn't smell like shit.

**::::**

Brendon dropped his bags on the living room floor. “Hey Spence, who was it you thought we should get for that one song?” he called out behind him, the rest of the guys filing back into Brendon’s home after having finished out the week in Chicago.

“Uh, Lolo?” Spencer answered, more as a question. It had been a side thought he’d said in passing on the plane ride home. He thought Brendon had been sleeping.

“Yeah, fuck, should’a asked Pete’s opinion while we were there.” He shrugged. “I can call him later.”

“LA is too hot!” Kenny yelled at no one in particular.

“You seemed fine last week, man.” Brendon smirked.

“Last week was before I was in Chicago for a week. Now, it’s too hot.”

“It’s getting colder out anyway, Kenny, suck it up,” said Dallon, pulling his and Kenny’s suitcases behind him and, setting them to the side, turning back and closing the front door.

“Well it should get colder faster,” Kenny mumbled, collapsing longways onto Brendon’s couch. “Bren, can you make it colder?”

“Dude I am _not_ turning the AC on for you, it’s fucking September.”

Kenny snorted. “I meant with your weird demon powers.” He grinned, closing his eyes and making himself way too comfortable. So naturally, Brendon waltzed over and sat directly on his outstretched legs.

“Maybe you didn’t get the memo but Hell’s fuckin’ hot.”

“Okay, but your heart’s as cold as ice!” Dallon called from Brendon’s kitchen.

“Ha ha!” Brendon yelled back, snark evident as ever. “You of all people know I still have a heart, it’s my soul that’s missing!”

“You of all people?” Spencer questioned, coming back into the living room with a glass of water in hand. Brendon froze for a moment. Shit, had he given Dallon away? Spencer, thankfully, continued. “You two kiss and make out on vacation?” he snorted.

“Oh, don’t you know it!” Brendon made a kissy face in Dallon’s direction, Dallon entering soon after Spencer with the bottle of Dr. Pepper he’d left in the fridge the week before. The angel merely rolled his eyes and laughed with everyone.

They all settled down in various places around the living room; Kenny stayed on the couch, and Brendon seemed set on keeping his legs pinned to the cushion. Spencer situated himself on the floor, and Dallon got comfortable in an armchair. Things quieted after a few minutes, and they found themselves more tired than they had thought. Kenny had already fallen asleep and Dallon was on his way out, so Spencer turned his attention to Brendon.

“Hey, so, have you told Sarah?”

The demon raised a brow. “Told Sarah what?”

“That you, I don’t know, sold your soul to the devil or however you got like this?”

Brendon thought for a moment. “No, I haven’t.”

Spencer stared him down.

“What?”

“Bren, you told _us_ before you told your _wife_?”

Brendon sighed in exasperation. “Yes, I fucking did, because unlike with _her_ , I don’t have to live with _you_ motherfuckers for the rest of my life.”

Spencer hardened his expression. “But you  _are_ going to tell her, right?”

Brendon shook his head slightly. “Yes, man, of course. I just.. I need to work up to it, okay? It’s not like any human expects to find out their husband is actually a hell-servant.”

Spencer dropped the topic, deciding it was probably best to let it go. He wasn’t very tired, and Brendon didn’t seem to be falling asleep any time soon. “Mind if I ask some questions?”

Brendon waved his arm in permission. “Ask away.”

Spencer shifted slightly on the floor. “What does it feel like?”

“Feel like?” Brendon furrowed his brows.

“Yeah, like, do you feel different? From when you were a human? More powerful?”

“I, uh,” Brendon thought. “I mean, I don’t really.. I don’t really know. I can’t really answer that for you.”

“You... can’t?”

“Yeah, like, I remember _being_ human, of course, but I can’t remember what it felt like. It kinda just feels like I’ve always been this, even though I haven’t.” Brendon pursed his lips. It didn’t really bother him, he wouldn’t let it, but he hadn’t noticed just how much this change had affected his life, his brain, his memories. He shrugged. “So I don’t really have any parallels to draw from.”

“That sounds like a good time.”

Brendon shrugged again, then leaning his head back against the couch. “Eh, can’t change nothin’ now. Not that I want to.”

“Do you not?” Spencer questioned.

“Fuck no. There are only four potential reasons why I might ever have even the slightest regret about this.”

“And they are?”

“Sarah’s reaction, which is yet to be determined, your reaction, which I wasn’t too worried about, Kenny’s, which I’ll admit I was a little worried about, and Dallon’s.” Brendon paused, then lowered his voice slightly. “I was.. I was really worried about Dallon’s. Until last week. He came through for me.”

Brendon had looked back to Spencer during the pause, finding him sprawled out on the area rug, eyes closed and mostly just listening, slipping ever so slowly out of consciousness. As he finished, however, he thought he saw Dallon smile just a little, his ethereal wings curling around himself just slightly. Brendon smiled to himself and closed his eyes, allowing himself to take a little nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official! There's only one more chapter after this one! :^)  
> Thank you all so much for sticking around for this, especially the ones that started with Round the Bend first--don't worry, that cliffhanger from that will soon be resolved in the fic that's following this one: And Back Again.  
> Now the news on that fic, it's still heavily a work in progress, so I might take a week hiatus from posting after the last chapter goes up just so I can catch up and make edits and such, I'm not sure yet, we'll see what happens by the next update :^)
> 
> And as always, we would love to hear any and all feedback that you have! Comments, criticisms, things you think will happen in the future, parts you enjoyed, heck even requests for other fics! Literally anything! It means so much for you all to have read through this.   
> I know that when I started this with Jenni I was so afraid that it was just going to be shoved under the rug and no one would ever read it, so you could imagine how ecstatic I am that there are so many of you that actually enjoy what we've been writing.   
> Don't worry, I won't get all mushy on you guys yet. There's still another chapter for me to do that in :^)
> 
> xoxo


	17. Chapter 17

Andy set down the bags of Chinese takeout and headed to the basement, seeing as how neither Pete nor Patrick were in the livingroom or kitchen. The first thing he noticed was that Pete was fast asleep on top of Patrick. The next thing, “Patrick, it’s been three days, how’d you fuck up being an angel this fast?”

Patrick turned towards the voice, quickly aware that he hadn’t at all hidden his blackened wings. “I- uh,-” he stammered. He cleared his throat. “It’s not-, I- I didn’t-”

Andy’s face softened. “You didn’t fall, did you? Is that a thing?” Concerned edged his voice. “Like, a fallen angel?”

Patrick shook his head, wrapping his wings tighter around himself and around Pete. “N-no, I mean, it’s a thing, but it didn’t happen.” He sighed and left them in silence for a minute. After a painful pause, thinking through answers, he again spoke. “It’s leftover dark magic. From Mephistopheles.”

Andy furrowed his brow. “So why were they white before and dark now..?”

Patrick again sighed and hid his wings away to give Andy the full view. Pete shivered at their sudden absence but he didn’t quite stir, instead cuddling instinctively into Patrick, who didn’t really mind. Patrick was cold from anemia, and Pete was warm from drinking living blood. “Pete, uh..”

“Pete bit you again?” Andy asked with deepening concern.

“I told him to.” Patrick frowned.

“Patrick, you’re a fucking idiot.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, Pete had bitten him three times now, and not once had he sucked him dry. He had to hand it to him, the vampire had a lot of self control.

“That’s my specialty, it seems.” He gave his friend a sheepish smile.

“You guys are adults, and you’re not in any other danger, so I guess.. I mean, I can’t force you two not to do this.” Though he half wished he could. Pete hated drinking from living people, why on earth would he allow himself to bite down on Patrick? He shook his head, all but giving up on the situation that seemed to constantly repeat itself.

After a pause Patrick deemed long enough for a topic change, he questioned Andy. “Where’s Joe? Didn’t he go with you to get food?”

“Ah, yeah, uh, I’m not sure where he went, but he said he’d be back. I left the food upstairs, though. Figured we’d wait for him. He was staring at the sky for a minute and then I guess he got a text or something, ‘cause he excused himself just walking back from the Chinese place and disappeared.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Joe was usually pretty good at keeping them updated, and now that they were definitely getting back together, he’d text them whenever he was coming or getting home. “Hunh. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” He thought about re-appearing his wings to cover Pete when the vampire stirred.

“Mmn..” he groaned, sluggishly pulling himself up to a sitting position, still straddling Patrick. His face flushed as he noticed both Patrick and Andy were watching him. “Fuck... Sorry, man.” He stretched both his back and his wings before shuffling himself off of Patrick, who moved to give him room to sit properly.

“It’s fine,” Patrick replied. It really was. He missed closeness, and he was so ready to go back to Elisa tonight. But he didn’t mind snuggling his best friend, either.

“Have a good snack?” Andy asked flatly.

“Unh.. fuck you. It was consensual.” Pete looked over his wings. Still golden-tan.

“They really look pretty neat,” Patrick noted as he saw Pete’s focus. “Imagine if you could get them tattooed.”

Pete chuckled. Now _that_ was a thought. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Not to mention finding the right tattoo artist.”

“You could always ask Brendon,” Patrick smirked.

“I wouldn’t,” Andy cut in.

Pete laughed slightly. “Not a chance.”

“Speaking of Brendon and tattoos,” Patrick started. “How’s mine looking?” He turned himself and lifted his shirt halfway up his back.

“Can’t see a thing.” Andy answered.

“Dude that thing is sick as _fuck_. It’s like liquid gold on your back!”

“What’s sick as fuck?” Came Joe’s voice. The three men turned to face him. He was clearly standing on the far side of the room, well away from the door.

“When did you get here?” Andy questioned. He’d just been looking at the door, for heaven’s sake.

Joe raised his brow. “Huh? Oh. Beamed down from the mothership,” he laughed.

“No, seriously, where’d you come from?” Patrick asked. He hadn’t heard anything, and from the look on Pete’s face, the vampire with super hearing hadn’t heard him either.

Joe furrowed his brow. “I just told you. I mean, it’s not really a mothership, more like a small spacecraft, but still-”  
  
“ _Aliens_ , Joe?” Pete frowned.

“Yeah? They’re my friends. Have been for years.” He scoffed, as though this were _normal_ and _totally expected_ , him having friends that were aliens.

Pete’s frown deepened, but he gave the air a quick sniff. He could smell Patrick, and Andy, himself, Joe, and something _definitely_ not from around Chicago. He couldn’t place it at all, really.

Joe continued. “They abducted me like, before the Cork Tree tour, you know? Did some stuff,” he shrugged. “Then again when we went on hiatus. They were like, actually worried about me or some shit. They’re nice... beings.” He honestly didn’t know what to call them, other than friends, aliens, and beings. He wasn’t sure how sex or gender or any of that shit worked wherever they were from, and they never told him anything important. They didn’t use words.

“Oh....kay...? Are we just all going to accept this as like, fact?” Patrick asked incredulously. “Like, I mean it, are we going to just..?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, throwing his hands up. “Yeah, I fucking give up. This universe is fucked up.”

Andy sighed in defeat. “I’m on board.”

“Actually, I was on board, thanks.” Joe grinned, taking a seat on the couch opposite Patrick and Pete.

“And... you never felt the need to tell us this _incredibly important_ information before, why, exactly?” Patrick interrogated, though Joe just shrugged.

“Is it really all that important? I mean, they nabbed me, did some weird stuff, got some results, and we had a cool chat and some like, green coffee type shit. Both times since that we just talked. They like the band, you know? They just wanted to know if I was alright. Asked about you guys, too, in their weird non-verbal way.”

“Weird stuff?”

“Yeah, like,” he shrugged again. “Things you’d expect from aliens. Mouth stuff. Brain stuff. Butt stuff.”

Patrick’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked.”

Joe just grinned. “Made me smarter, you know that? Numbers and I have always gotten along, but after that, things made more sense to me.” He thought for a moment. “I guess I started making less sense to you guys, but you all get me now.”

“Yeah, you’ve always been one weird motherfucker.” Pete said, leaning back on the couch, fully resigned to the fact that there would always be something he wasn’t prepared to hear.

“So you’re a three-time abductee?” Andy asked.

“Pretty much. It’s really not a big deal, though. Like, sure, _extraterrestrials exist_ and all that shit, but they’re really not that, like, _amazing_ like our movies make ‘em out to be. They’re as curious as we are. Besides, I’m still a fuckin’ human, unlike golden boy over here and the winged wonder.” Joe smirked in their direction. “I’m fuckin’ hungry, can we eat? Please?”

Andy jumped up to go fetch the food as the three men talked about this and that and preparing for the studio.

Yeah, Fall Out Boy were back.

And they were going to make it more awesome than ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the finale of By Heaven & Hell!  
> I really hope that you all enjoyed this, and if you haven't already, you should definitely go back and read Round the Bend, especially if you're interested in the next fic in this series!  
> Speaking of it, it's still rather a work in progress, but I'll try to start posting that by next week or the week after. It should be finished, or at least very close to finished, by then. I don't want to keep you all waiting for too long!
> 
> Either way, thank you so much for sticking around, it means the world :^)  
> Comments are absolutely loved. I really love seeing people's reactions, so don't be shy!
> 
> Be on the look out for And Back Again <3  
> xoxo


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